


Across the Forgotten Plains

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: AU Yeah AUgust 2020 [4]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers – All Media Types
Genre: AU Yeah August 2020, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Barbarians, Attraction, Camping, Dating, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fanart, Healing, Hunting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Major Life Decisions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Travel, WIP Big Bang, WIP Big Bang 2020, Winter, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Jazz had never fit in with his hometown of Staniz, so when an opportunity came to get out, he jumped on it, planning to be a travelling musician. But when an attack on his transport lands him in the care of a Plainswalker tribe, and specifically his easy-on-the-optics rescuer, his plans change. The mecha who attacked his transport are still out there, though, and it seems as if the threat they present is increasing.
Relationships: Bluestreak/Hound, Ironhide & Chromia & Hot Rod, Ironhide/Chromia, Jazz/Prowl, Optimus Prime/Elita One, Prowl & Bluestreak, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker
Series: AU Yeah AUgust 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860307
Comments: 133
Kudos: 140
Collections: Good Shit To Read Again AKA GSTRA, WIP Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU Yeah AUgust 2020 Day 4: Barbarian AU
> 
> Hey! It's my 100th individual title published under Transformers - All Media Types! :D Diverting from the AU Yeah AUgust calendar to make sure this is the one that hits the milestone. ^_^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title card by [Airwarrior](https://airwarrior.tumblr.com/post/626276605101293568/across-the-forgotten-plains-chapter-1)/[Drift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drift/pseuds/Drift)!

Jazz had played through all the bars and clubs in his home town of Staniz, or at least it _felt_ like he had, so when he got the opportunity to join up with a magna marching band and travel, he had jumped on it. He and his group were expected in Tarn in a week and, for safety, had joined part of a caravan crossing the Sunken Plains. The big transport vehicles they were travelling in had felt secure at the beginning of the trip. It felt much less so now that the caravan was under attack by some kind of – actually, Jazz wasn't sure what kind of group they were, but the glimpses he got showed they all had the same purple symbol splashed on their armour. Terrorists, maybe? The only other group he could think might be out here was one of the Plainswalker tribes. But Plainswalker attacks on travellers were the stuff of legend and terrible romance novels. They didn't happen in real life. Jazz didn't even know if they were equipped to hit something this big, even if they wanted to.

The transport rocked against its stabilizers, hard, and Jazz grabbed at the seats to keep himself upright. His seatmate – a mech he didn't know – clutched at his arm for reassurance. Jazz would've liked to have offered some except he was busy trying to keep himself from panicking, _thank you very much_ , and didn't have the compute cycles for anything else right now. Travelling by transport instead of on your own wheels was supposed to be _safe_!

The transport rocked again, hard. Rocked, tilted, and went over.

Jazz's narrow view outside the transport window flipped upside down. There was a tank-wrenching sensation of sliding and –

* * *

Errors scrolled across Jazz's HUD as he booted up. He was still too fuzzy to make any sense out of them, but there was something about impact damage? That didn't make any sense. The transport was bouncing and swaying as it moved. That wasn't right, either, transports _hovered_. They _had_ to run smoothly! Something must have happened, something terrible. Jazz's head and his right hip _hurt_ , and something had gone wrong in his right elbow as well. He groaned and tried to online his optics, only to find out that still more had gone wrong. His vision on the left side was almost okay, just one long line across it, but the right was spiderwebbed with cracks. The light wasn't right, either. It wasn't the LEDs of the transport, it was more like sunlight, filtered somehow but not through polarized glass. A blurry, backlit mech came into his field of vision.

"Be at ease." The mech had an accent Jazz didn't quite recognize, with a faint Iaconian tinge. "You are safe here, city dweller. We're taking you to our chirurgeon. Sleep, if you can."

"Where…?"

"You are resting in one of the wains of the Primanites."

"The who? I don't – " Jazz frowned. His thinking was fuzzy. Not fuzzy-logic fuzzy, but wrong-fuzzy.

"It isn't necessary for you to understand at this time. You are having trouble retaining information due to your injuries. You struck your head at some point during the incident that brought you to us." The form withdrew. Jazz had the sense of someone sitting beside him. "Sleep. Give your self-repair time to work."

Okay, yeah, rest sounded like a good idea. Maybe Jazz would be less fuzzy, and things would make more sense once he'd gotten some defrag time in. Jazz shut his visor off again and let himself be lulled into recharge by the movement of the wagon.

Jazz was woken up sometime later – several cycles later, it looked like, since it was full dark now – by Not-Quite-Iaconian Accent shaking his shoulder gently. The mech's hands were cool against Jazz's plating.

"What -?"

"It's time to refuel," Accent said. "We have only mechanimal energon, and I apologize if that distresses you, but you must fuel so you can heal."

Mechanimal energon? Like, _from_ a mechanimal? Jazz had never even considered drinking it, but Accent was right about needing fuel to heal. Jazz had already burned through so much he was redlining, and he wanted fuel so badly he didn't even care where it had come from.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah, it's fine. Please."

"Of course. You'll need to sit up to fuel, however, and your injuries will make it difficult for you to move. Permit me to assist you?"

Jazz tried briefly to sit up on his own, but various parts of his structure protested with pain, and he gave up. At least the wain wasn't moving anymore. "Yeah, please."

"Relax and let me move you," Accent said, sliding an arm under Jazz's shoulders and helping him sit up. A big tarp-like thing that had been pulled over the top of Jazz fell into his lap, and the musician felt the night's chill. The tarp-thing must be to keep him warm, then, since he wasn't on a powered portable recharge mat or in a proper bed, and his systems were busy with repairs.

Accent pulled him against his side, minimizing the pressure Jazz had to put on his damaged side. Leaning into a stranger like this felt odd, but Jazz was in pain, and hungry, and wasn't sure he could stay sitting on his own. His right hip still hurt, but he could lean his left side against Accent and take the pressure off. He hoped the other mech didn't mind, but there really wasn't a whole lot Jazz could do about it if he did.

"Here. Drink slowly." Accent put a cup of some kind to Jazz's lips, holding firm even when Jazz tried to take the cup from him. The energon tasted different from what he was used to, richer but not like high-grade. Good, though. There were more minerals dissolved in it than he usually got back home, too.

"There is more if you require it," Accent told him. "First, finish this, then we'll wait for half a cycle to see how you feel."

"Are you a doctor?" Jazz nudged the cup again, and Accent was kind enough to tilt it so he could drink some more.

"No, though I have some small amount of medical knowledge. Enough to keep you from getting worse, anyway."

"Oh. That's good." Jazz felt like he should have a different reaction, a stronger one, but he was still muzzy, and the thought felt both important and not at the same time. "Hey, what's your designation?"

"I am Prowl, a Primanite of the Forgotten Plains, Huntmaster of the tribe and Councillor to our Prime." Well, that'd fill the queue to your vocalizer all on its own. "And yourself?"

"I'm Jazz of Staniz. I'm a musician." Jazz paused for a moment and added, "um, that's it."

"Jazz of Staniz," Prowl repeated. "Do you feel well enough to have your questions answered now?"

Jazz thought about it for a nano-klik. "Yeah, yeah, I do. So, just – where d'you want me to start?"

"I think rather _I_ should start, as I expect you know what happened, up to a certain point." Prowl paused, and Jazz nodded to indicate permission. "We had completed our day's hunt and were travelling your highway, hoping to trade with a caravan from one of the cities, when we came upon the wreck of your transport. Do you remember who attacked you?"

"Uh – didn't get a good look. They had some kinda purple markings on them, though."

Prowl made a sound that managed to be concerned, thoughtful and disapproving all at the same time. "That sounds like Decepticons, but I've never heard of them coming so near the trade routes before."

"What are Decepticons?" Jazz wanted to know.

"They are also called the Mecha of the Fallen. They have always been a warrior tribe, but over the past few vorn, they have become warlike, aggressive without cause."

"And they attacked the caravan," Jazz concluded. "Was I – was there anyone else?"

Prowl put a comforting hand on his arm. "Yes. You were far from the only survivor, but your injuries required treatment sooner rather than later, particularly since it was clear you'd sustained a head injury. An injury which I'm pleased to see does not seem to have been as severe as a feared – there is little to be done for such things save letting the patient rest, and we had none of the other methods with us. We left some of our hunters with the others to await recovery from the city, and the rest of us agreed to bring you to our chirurgeon, a day's travel away."

"I remember you telling me that," Jazz told him. Prowl was probably repeating himself in the likely event that Jazz _hadn't_ been able to remember what he'd been told before. "That's…pretty heavy." He'd been attacked and carried off by barbarians. He'd _really_ been carried off by barbarians. For medical reasons, not the spousal abductions that were the stuff of romance novels, but still. "I mean, thank you. For helping me."

"You're welcome," Prowl replied. "Our chirurgeon, Ratchet, will attend to you when we reach our hunting camp. Until then, you'll have to stay in the wain and rest."

Jazz wasn't one to stay inactive for any length of time, but between the hip, the elbow, the visor, and the fuzzy thoughts, inactivity sounded pretty good right about now.

"'Kay," Jazz agreed. Not that he had much choice, from the sounds of it. Not that he minded, either, given how tired he felt. That'd be his self-repair, demanding more resources.

"Your head injury means it will be some time before I can download our language to you. I will translate for you until then," Prowl continued. "Even if you choose not to stay long, it will be easier for everyone if we can all understand each other."

"Yeah, no kidding." Yeah, if he got to choose to leave, this was definitely not the romance novel slag. "Um, say, Prowl? Not that I ain't grateful for the fuel and the details, but is it okay if I get some more rest?"

"Of course," Prowl said graciously. "Allow me to help you lie down."

Jazz did, although it was that or fall flat on his back, and Prowl covered him with the tarp-thing, though it was too soft to be any kind of tarp Jazz was familiar with, drawing it right up to his chin. Prowl even secured it at the edges, pushing them under the sides of the pallet Jazz was lying on though Jazz was pretty sure he wasn't rolling anywhere with this hip anyway. It made Jazz feel oddly cared for.

"I'll remain here, in case you need anything," Prowl promised. He rested a reassuring hand on Jazz's arm. "Recharge, Jazz of Staniz. You are safe."

Jazz's self-repair was urging him to shut down anyway, especially now that he had fuel and new metals for his systems to work with. He gave in and let himself drift into a deep recharge.

* * *

When Jazz woke up the next morning, it was daylight again – bright, pure daylight that reminded him of the sun coming off the harbour on good days - and the wain wasn't moving. With the light, even with his cracked visor, Jazz could see that the soft tarp-thing was made of dozens of strips of different-coloured fabrics joined together somehow. Pretty. Prowl wasn't near him, but he could hear the Plainswalker's voice just outside the wain, speaking a different language to someone. Another Primanite, Jazz figured. Whoever they were, Jazz hoped they had pain meds because his internal systems wouldn't entirely offline the sensors in the damaged areas. That wasn't unusual: it prevented mecha from making an injury worse because the pain wasn't there to serve as a warning. Knowing that didn't make it any more fun, though.

A little under a klik passed, then Jazz felt the wain bounce as two people climbed into it. Prowl crouched down beside him, folding the fabric covering back to Jazz's knees as he spoke. Being exposed to the air by someone else like that felt kind of intimate, but Jazz didn't mind Prowl doing it. Mech had a sweet voice, though Jazz couldn't see well enough to tell if the faceplate and structure looked as good as the voice sounded. He could tell the mech had some kind of forehelm decoration and either wings, doors, or sensor panels, though.

"We're at camp, and I've brought Ratchet to tend to you." He regarded Jazz thoughtfully. "Do you remember me telling you of Ratchet?"

"Sure, Prowl," Jazz dropped the name, so Prowl'd know he remembered that, too, "you said he was your doctor, at your hunting camp."

"Yes, that's right." Prowl sat back on his heels. "Ratchet doesn't speak your language, so I will translate."

"Does he have anything for pain?" Jazz asked hopefully.

"Yes, of course." Prowl sat back and had a brief conversation with Ratchet. "'I'm going to examine you first,'" Prowl translated, "'so I can get a read on your reactions. Then I'll take the affected sensors offline.'"

Ratchet appeared in Jazz's field of vision, making a shooing motion at the Huntmaster. Prowl obligingly slid back. The medic was bigger and boxier than Prowl, also had a forehelm ornament of some kind, and Jazz thought he had glass on his chest. Something shiny in a way metal wasn't was there anyway. He gestured toward Jazz's neck and said something.

"'Turn your head and open your medical port,'" Prowl instructed him.

Jazz obliged, and a few nano-kliks later felt the cold, impersonal touch of a medical probe. It was uncomfortable, as medical probes tended to be, but it wasn't threatening, so he granted access and felt their systems connect. Ratchet did a routine and simple scan of Jazz's systems first, then narrowed into examining the damage reports. The doctor was courteous enough to let Jazz see what he was doing via his HUD, probably because they didn't speak the same language, even if Jazz didn't understand half of what he saw.

Getting his hip and elbow probed was a lot less comfortable. The elbow had already been popped back into place and, kept immobilized, would be taken care of by self-repair in a few cycles. The hip needed more work, namely welding, meaning Ratchet needed access to his forge. The forge was back at a different camp a few days away, so all Ratchet could do right now was shut off the sensors in that area and tell Jazz to keep as still as possible.

Well, that was going to get real old real fast. Jazz liked to move, to race, to dance. He wasn't much for keeping still, but – doctor's orders.

Before leaving, Ratchet smeared a gel of some kind over his visor to fill in the cracks and help it heal. Some sort of nanite compound, probably, though where you'd manufacture nanites out here, Jazz couldn't guess. Maybe it was one of the things they traded for? While Jazz knew he'd be grateful for it in a couple of days once it'd done its job, right now, it just made everything blurry. That wasn't going to help with the boredom, but Jazz didn't want to repay his host's kindness with complaining. Fortunately, Prowl seemed to get it without Jazz having to say anything.

"Your travelling companions did provide us with your items, including an instrument, I believe," Prowl told him. "They said you would want it."

Jazz brightened. "My electro-bass made it?"

"Perhaps? I've not looked inside the case, but it is shaped like a guitar if an electro-bass is similar."

"Yup, it is. It's actually a type of guitar," Jazz explained. Then he realized. "Oh. But it needs power and an amp. I mean, I can practice – gotta keep that up – but that's about it." He could jack into the electro-bass to power it, and that way _he_ could hear what he was playing, but that didn't do anyone else any good.

"A shame," Prowl said, genuinely sounding regretful. "We've had a single bard since Pulse was taken as a spouse by a warrior from another tribe." Prowl paused for a moment then added, "I've some idea of the stories city dwellers tell, and I can assure you, Pulse had as much choice in his union as any city dweller. Spousal abduction is largely ceremonial, a holdover from ancient times."

"So, I guess I'm not the first city dweller you've talked with then," Jazz said, guessing Prowl'd mentioned that to put Jazz at ease, what with how they'd met. "About more than trade, I mean."

"You are not. I learned your tongue from a city mech who travelled with us for some time." Prowl seemed to resettle himself more comfortably as the wain lurched into motion. Planning to stay awhile, apparently. Well, Jazz sure didn't object. Talking to Prowl was much better than just lying here trying to entertain himself in his own helm. Jazz sure wasn't sorry about any time he got to spend listening to the Plainswalker's voice, either. "He had travelled to many lands and knew many languages. I traded extensively with him for the datatrax, and I can now speak with many city dwellers. I handle much of our trade with city-dweller caravans."

"It's the first time I've been outside of Staniz," Jazz admitted. "This isn't exactly how I pictured it turning out."

"I imagine not," Prowl replied, not unsympathetically. "Would you like to fuel now?"

Jazz wasn't particularly hungry, but he'd need fuel for his self-repair system, so he said 'yes.' Fueling was a repeat of the night before: Prowl helped him upright and fed him while he leaned into the Plainswalker to keep as much weight off his injured side as possible. Jazz tried to take the cup – he was steady enough to drink on his own now, thanks – but Prowl simply refused to let it go. Okay, well…maybe it was less weird for Prowl if he actively fed Jazz rather than just being a thing to lean against. It didn't make it any less weird for Jazz, though. Not uncomfortable, just – weird. This wasn't a thing anyone had done with him before.

"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?" Jazz asked once he'd been laid back down. 'Huntmaster' sounded like a pretty important title. "Hunting, or something?" Some of the upper classes, Jazz knew, liked to hunt turbo-foxes for sport, but he got the Prowl was doing something more than the catch-and-release of a turbo-fox hunt.

"No. You are my charge," Prowl told him. "I carried you out of the wreckage myself."

Something about the way he said that sounded significant. "So, because you saved me, you're responsible for me?"

"While you are injured, yes, essentially."

Prowl did not strike Jazz as one of those people who used 'essentially' or 'basically' when it was not precisely what they meant. Jazz was sure that there was more to that statement. Prowl had said 'carried' where most people would've said 'pulled' and that made Jazz's mind go back to the whole 'spousal abduction' thing – but Prowl'd also said that was ceremonial.

_Largely_ ceremonial. And that this Pulse mech had gone voluntarily. So, Jazz felt safe in assuming he'd not been carried off and married to Prowl without his say-so. They didn't know that much about each other, after all. He didn't even really know what the mech looked like!

"So, what does being responsible for me mean?" Jazz wanted to know. "Besides keeping me warm and fuelled?"

"Anything you require, within reason, our supplies, and my own capabilities," Prowl said serenely. "What would you like me to do?"

If Jazz hadn't been injured and floaty from painkillers, that question in that voice would've sent his mind to some exciting places. As it was, right now, all he could do was talk and listen.

"Talk to me?" Jazz suggested. "Why don't you explain all those things city dwellers usually ask dumb questions about so's I don't accidentally step in the slag when I'm talking to you? Or anyone else in your tribe who speaks Cybex." Didn't want to offend his hosts, after all.

Prowl made a sound that might've been a soft laugh. "Very well. We have covered the ceremonial nature of spousal abductions, and you've already determined on your own that more members than myself speak Cybex. You've seen a degree of our medical capabilities for yourself, and you know that we trade with the cities. We also trade with other tribes, of course – that's how Ratchet got the unguent he used on your visor." Now there was a smile in Prowl's voice, even if it was a faint one. "Sometimes, it seems as if the Solusites can make anything from virtually nothing."

Primanites, Megatronites, and Solusites, huh? "Are any of the other tribes named for the Thirteen or just the three you've mentioned so far?" Jazz asked.

"There are twelve tribes, each named for one of the Thirteen, excepting the Arisen. But," Prowl added, and was that a little bit of teasing in his voice, there? "I thought I was meant to speak and you to listen?"

Grinning, Jazz raised his left hand in a gesture of mock surrender. He was starting to really like Prowl. "My bad. Go on, mech."

Prowl did, giving Jazz histories and descriptions of all twelve tribes. The tribes were each named for of the Thirteen and took their best-known aspect from their namesake. It was interesting, way, way more Plainswalker history than Jazz had ever heard before, but his self-repair was still being demanding. Interested or not, Jazz drifted off to sleep again part-way through, apologizing profusely when he woke again and realized what had happened.

"There is no need to apologize," Prowl assured him. "You are injured. You need sleep to help you heal. I was running out of things to tell you anyway."

"There's a limit to even dumb city-dweller questions, huh?" Jazz joked. He could only imagine some of the things Prowl'd been asked, given that all most city-dwellers knew about Plainswalkers came from things like movies and legends and trashy romance novels.

That smile was back in Prowl's voice. "Your words, not mine. What else would you like to know?"

"Uh…" He couldn't think of anything for a moment, then the still unaccustomed weight of the tarp-thing gave him an idea. "Yeah, this – I guess it's not really a tarp, but I don't know what else to call it. What is it?"

"It's a quilt," Prowl explained. "Our artisans take or make small pieces of fabric and sew them together. A layer of padding and a second piece of fabric – either a whole large one or a second made of smaller pieces – are added underneath, then the whole is sewn together to make what you see now. We use them to maintain our body temperature while we sleep, one less system that needs to run. We don't have recharge pads or beds to do that for us, nor a power source we can simply tap into on-demand as you do in the cities."

Huh, neat. Practical art.

"It's pretty," Jazz offered. "Soft, too. Do they take long to make?"

"They can. It depends on the pattern, the size, and how many are working on it." Prowl reached down and ran his fingers over the quilt, a respectable distance away from Jazz's arm. "They can require space to complete. Those who make them will often sew individual pieces together into a larger piece called a block over the summer as we travel. Then, they spend the winter finishing their quilts as a group."

Practical art as a social activity. _Very_ cool! Jazz didn't expect to be with the Primanites come winter, so he wouldn't see that, but he liked the idea of it.

"Did you ever make one? Or help with one?" It sounded interesting. Not Jazz's scene but interesting.

"Yes, I've helped with several. It's a popular activity during the winter, and I find the activity calming. Besides," Prowl added, "the mechanimals are mostly hibernating or have migrated to other locations during winter, so there isn't much to hunt."

"Not much for a Huntmaster to do, huh?"

Prowl chuckled. "Not much, no."

"So, what else do Primanites do?" Jazz wanted to know. "Not just in winter, I mean, in general. If you don't mind me asking."

"I do not," Prowl assured him, and went into detail about day-to-day life in the tribe.

"It is a harder life than city dwellers often seem to expect us to have," Prowl said when he'd finished. "But a good one. I've often wondered what it would be like to live in a city - for a time, at least."

"You can come to stay at my place, when I've got one again," Jazz promised. "Rent free. Won't even have to get injured first."

Again, the smile in that voice. "I trust you would care for me if I did."

Jazz felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with quilts. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chirurgeon](https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/chirurgeon): archaic term for a doctor or surgeon, presumably in use before the two disciplines became separate.  
> [Wain](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/wain#synonyms): antiquated term for wagon.  
> [Unguent:](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/unguent) a soothing or healing salve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Airwarrior](https://airwarrior.tumblr.com/post/626276605101293568/across-the-forgotten-plains-chapter-1)/[Drift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drift/pseuds/Drift) made an amazing title card for the fic! Hop back over to chapter one or [click this link](https://airwarrior.tumblr.com/post/626276605101293568/across-the-forgotten-plains-chapter-1) to see!

Prowl waited until Jazz had fallen asleep and then quietly left the wain. Jazz's previous sleep periods, excluding his sleep during the night, had lasted a minimum of two-point-three joors. Prowl calculated that the odds of this sleep period lasting the same minimum length were at ninety-six percent, giving him two-point-two joors (including a ten percent margin for error) to walk instead of sit. Prowl wasn't accustomed to long periods of inactivity, and it felt good to stretch his legs. He had a practical reason for leaving the wain as well. He went over to the supply wain with the intent of retrieving Jazz's instrument, thinking that even if it didn't produce sound without power having it nearby might provide some comfort.

Hound approached while Prowl was balanced on the side of the open transport wain, while it moved, carefully sifting through the items inside to retrieve Jazz's electro-bass.

"Help you find something, Prowl?" Hound offered.

"Thank you, no," Prowl replied, pulling out the case he sought. "I have it. If you'd hold it for me for a klik, please?"

"Sure!" Hound, always helpful, held the item while Prowl reordered what he'd moved so that it would not shift while the wain was in motion. "This belongs to the city dweller?"

"His designation is Jazz, and yes."

Hound examined the case while he held it. "What's this? Some kind of instrument?"

"Yes. Jazz called it an electro-bass but says it won't produce sound without power." Prowl dropped lightly back off the side of the wagon and took the case from Hound. The gallium-grass, beginning to dry in the waning summer, was stiff below their feet. "I thought he might like to have it anyway, so he could practice."

"Uh-huh." Hound nodded. "It's good you're caring for him." There were undertones to 'caring' that suggested more than just 'looking after.'

Prowl cast him a sideways glance. "He's injured and kept immobile under Ratchet's orders. If he becomes restive, he could prolong his healing or even do further damage."

"So, you _don't_ want him to stay longer?" Hound teased.

"His injuries will need to heal before he can think of returning to the city before winter," Prowl replied, aware it wasn't quite an answer.

"And if he were persuaded to stay longer?" Hound persisted.

Prowl bit back a sigh, mindful that telling Bluestreak's spouse something was as good as telling _Bluestreak_ something. And, telling Bluestreak something risked exposing it to the whole camp and then the entire tribe. Prowl loved his sibling dearly, but the mech was terrible with secrets.

"If Jazz wishes to stay, I will speak to the Prime on his behalf. Please excuse me, Hound," Prowl said firmly. There was nothing pressing he had to do, but there was always something that needed to be done.

Prowl checked in with Ratchet, who said the patient would be just fine if Jazz obeyed orders, and to stop bothering him. Then Prowl's sibling saw him and came trotting over to excitedly talk about Jazz and ask dozens of questions about the city dweller was and the city, and when could Bluestreak speak to him. Prowl could only answer some of his sibling's questions but supposed that if Jazz were feeling up to visitors, Bluestreak could talk to him any time he was awake.

"Or do you want to keep him all to yourself?" Bluestreak added slyly, nudging him with an elbow.

Apparently, avoiding specifics with Hound hadn't been as useful as Prowl had thought. Bluestreak had reached the conclusion Hound had been hinting at all on his own. The worst part was, Prowl couldn't even tell his sibling he was wrong. Jazz was handsome, and good company, and yes, Prowl would likely give thought to starting a courtship if the mech stayed. However, Jazz had been in transit for a purpose, and there was only a thirty percent probability he would be willing to remain with the tribe longer than necessary. The likelihood he would stay with the tribe over winter was only nineteen-point-seven-eight-three percent. Prowl had not calculated the probability that Jazz would want to stay because of _Prowl_. Prowl did not yet know Jazz well enough to factor his individual reactions into his calculations.

At this point, it would be low, anyway, especially given how Jazz had come to be travelling with them. For all Prowl knew, Jazz would want to get back to the safety of the cities and as far away from the threat of the Decepticons as possible – and that was information Prowl wanted kept secret. At least only himself and Jazz knew it had been Decepticons that had attacked the caravan. Prowl wanted to talk to Prime before word of _that_ had a chance to spread.

"I'm sure Jazz will welcome your company, once he feels up to it," Prowl said firmly. "How are things between you and Hound?" It seemed like a safe way to divert the conversation. In Prowl's experience, newlyweds' favourite topic was each other.

Indeed, Bluestreak was happily diverted for the rest of Jazz's estimated sleep period.

* * *

Jazz woke up and nearly stretched before he remembered he was supposed to be keeping still. He'd been right, that _had_ gotten real old fast.

"Hello again," Prowl, still on Jazz's left, said.

"Hey there, Prowl," Jazz said, turning his head so he could look – sort of - at his companion-rescuer. "'Scuse me for not getting up to say 'hi.'"

"Think nothing of it," Prowl said, sounding amused again. "I brought your instrument. I thought you might like to have it, even if you can't use it to entertain."

His electro-bass! Jazz grinned. "Hey, thanks, Prowl! Being able to practice will be great!"

"Shall I hand it to you?"

"Yeah, please!"

Prowl unlatched the case and handed it over. The Huntmaster got the positioning nearly right, the electro-bass's neck in Jazz's left hand and its body accessible to his right. Jazz just needed to shift it a little lower so he could access the strings. It was a good thing it'd been his hip and not his elbow that required soldering, or he wouldn't even be able to practice. Trying to play lying down was different from what he was used to, but it wasn't like he didn't have time to get used to it. "Wish I could play something for you." He strummed the electro-bass, once. "You're talking to me and keeping me from going stir-crazy in here, be nice if I could do something for you in return. Can't imagine it'd be too exciting just to watch me play when you can't hear anything."

"I'd like to hear you play something, sometime," Prowl said. "Perhaps when we reach the camp, someone will have an instrument you can borrow."

"Sure, I always love a good jam session." A thought occurred to Jazz. "Hey, um, what are your feelings on basic networking connections?" Jazz knew some people would connect casually for anything, including sexual interfacing, and others who preferred only to network for any reason with people they knew.

"Permissible, provided all are capable of consenting and have done so."

"'Cause I was thinking," and why did he suddenly feel shy? He'd spent more time with Prowl than with some of the other people he'd networked with! Even some of the ones he'd 'faced. "You could connect with me, and I could jack into my electro-bass, and you could listen to me play that way. Through my internal systems. If – if you're okay with that."

"I would like that," Prowl said, sounding genuinely pleased. "My cables won't be in the way?"

"Nah, not if you jack into my left wrist. I can manage around them that way." There were also his hip ports, but those were generally considered more intimate, even if they did the same thing as the ones in the wrist.

It was a little awkward, but they did manage, with Prowl sitting by his shoulder and Prowl's cables running along his arm to his wrist. The connection was one-way, just to let Prowl listen in, and emotions _shouldn't_ have factored into it, but Jazz swore he could feel the other mech's enjoyment as he played.

"Sorry, mech," Jazz said with genuine regret after a cycle or so of practice. "I'd love to play more for you, but I'm starting to get tired again." And he had to keep his wrist at kind of an awkward angle on the frets to give the jacks space, and it was starting to bother him. The electro-bass wasn't really meant to be played lying down like this either. It was too bad – he'd enjoyed playing for Prowl. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Prowl politely disconnected and retracted his cables. "I would enjoy that."

"Most private concert you'll ever have, huh?" Jazz asked, grinning up at Prowl, even though he still couldn't really see him. Not in any real detail, just – red bits on his forehelm and a pair of sky-blue optics. He was sure Prowl was smiling as well.

"Yes, it was."

For a long few nano-kliks, they just looked at each other, before Prowl reset his vocalizer and asked if he should put away the electro-bass.

"Yeah – yeah, sure, Prowl." Jazz handed it over, knowing Prowl would be careful with it. "Thanks again."

"You're very welcome." Jazz heard the clicks of the instrument case latching, one after the other, then Prowl spoke again. "My sibling, Bluestreak, wishes to know if it would be alright if he came and spent some time with you. He's younger, talkative, very friendly and very curious."

Sounded like Jazz's kind of mech. "Sure, no problem." Mildly disobeying Ratchet further, he patted Prowl on the knee. "The private concerts are all for you, though."

Prowl touched Jazz's hand with warm fingers. "Thank you."

Bluestreak came and visited the next morning, and Jazz discovered Prowl hadn't been joking when he called his sibling talkative. It didn't take many compute cycles to figure out where the mech's designation had come from, too. But Bluestreak was a friendly mech, and his chatter wasn't meant to be overbearing. He just got really into his subject. _Really_ into it. Jazz would've made a joke about being a captive audience if he hadn't thought it would've hurt Bluestreak's feelings.

Prowl had been there that morning to help Jazz fuel, and he showed up again about midday, he said to check on Jazz and make sure the injured mech wasn't getting tired. Jazz wasn't, yet, and he felt much more alert than he had the day previous. Ratchet appeared as well, to check on Jazz's vitals and his hip and to smear Jazz's visor with healing goo again. So much for being able to see. There might not be much by way of scenery in the wain, but Jazz would've liked to get a good look at Prowl. And everyone else, of course.

"I hope Bluestreak did not overwhelm you," Prowl said when he showed up again in the late afternoon. Bluestreak left when his sibling arrived, to race to the next camp to alert them the hunting party was returning and to have someone start Ratchet's forge so Jazz could get his hip fixed.

"Nah, I didn't mind. He hasn't been married to this Hound mech very long, has he?"

"No, they met when the Onyxites wintered with us this past season. Their courtship began shortly before mid-winter, and when our tribes parted in the spring, Hound agreed to marry and stay with Bluestreak." Prowl had settled down by Jazz again, and the musician was sure he was a little closer to Jazz than he had been the day before.

"Less than a year?" Jazz was surprised. "Isn't that kind of fast?"

"No? At least," Prowl amended, "not for us. We might see the Onyxites again this year, we might not. Hound and Bluestreak might have survived to meet again, they might not. Better to love each other now than risk losing the future you _could_ have."

"So, what happens if it doesn't work out? I mean, not necessarily Bluestreak between and Hound," Jazz added quickly. "Just in general?"

"Then Hound would return to the Onyxites. Bluestreak would return to the family tent – mine – and an arbiter would be chosen to divide their mutual possessions if they could not do so amicably themselves. Of course," Prowl continued, "that is only if they had no creations together. Then Hound would stay until the creations were old enough to decide which parent they wished to remain with. Some creations will travel one year with one parent and the next with another, often until they take a spouse of their own."

Privately, Jazz doubted it always work as smoothly as Prowl made it sound, but that wasn't the kind of thing you asked someone you'd only known for a day. It didn't matter how hot their voice was.

The back of the wain, which Jazz would face if he were sitting up, dipped under someone's weight. The red-and-white blur Jazz recognized as Ratchet pulled themselves up into the bed of the wain and spoke briefly at Jazz.

"Ratchet will put you into stasis now," Prowl told Jazz. "He wants to take a more in-depth look at your hip before he begins repairs. He will also check your processor for damage while you're in stasis, as a scan that deep is unpleasant, and let me know when I can upload our language to you."

"Yeah, okay," Jazz agreed – not that he had much choice unless he wanted to lie here, getting more and more bored until self-repair took care of things. Prowl sounded like an important mech, and he probably couldn't sit here and entertain Jazz for that long. "Starting to really want to get back on my feet." And his wheels, though his feet would come first. It took longer after a repair like that to transform than it did to stand and walk.

Prowl translated for Ratchet, and apparently, he translated the whole thing because Ratchet shot something back.

"He says in that case, he'll keep you under till the repairs have set, to be safe," Prowl relayed. "And that your visor should be fully repaired by then as well. " Prowl put a hand on Jazz's arm. "I can't promise I'll be there when you wake, but I won't be far."

"No worries, mech, I get it." Jazz let Ratchet jack into his systems and access the stasis protocols. "See you soon, Prowl."

Prowl's voice followed him down into stasis. "I will see you soon, Jazz."

* * *

Jazz booted up slowly, his chronometer informing him it was six joors later. He was in a weird-looking room that his stasis-slowed datatrax told him shortly was probably a tent, something he'd heard of but had never seen used. His hip had the stiffness and mild ache of recent repairs, and his vision was back and unblurred. He was lying on another pallet, covered with another quilt – in a different pattern but no less pretty – and he was alone.

Jazz pushed himself up on his elbows, still not used to the feeling of cloth sliding down his body, and looked around. He got the feeling Ratchet wouldn't be happy if he tested out his just-fixed hip before he got the medic's okay. Jazz knew better than to argue with medical personnel if you didn't have to. The tent was obviously meant for two: there was a second pallet on the opposite side, neatly made up, and a sort of folding screen thing Jazz guessed could be pulled across for privacy. Well, what privacy you could get in a tent, anyway. It didn't seem like it would be much.

Even though the tent was made for two, a look around told Jazz that only one person was living in it just then. Sure, the other side was perfectly neat and tidy, but it had some personal items – crystals, little lamps, some cushions – and the one Jazz was on didn't. Maybe Ratchet used part of his tent for recovering patients so he could keep an optic on them?

Jazz could hear people moving around outside the tent and hesitantly called out to them. A few nano-kliks later the front of the tent opened, and Prowl ducked inside, giving Jazz his first real look at the mech. Similar build and structure to his own, and painted black-and-white as well, less boxy around the arms and shoulders though, and with sweeping sensor panels on his back. The red bits turned out to be sensor antennae in the shape of a chevron, and those bright blue optics were set in a faceplate every bit as good-looking as Jazz could have hoped. _Definitely_ a face worth waking up for. Jazz wasn't going to be sorry to spend the next however long looking at it, that was for sure.

"How do you feel, Jazz?" Prowl asked. He was carrying a drinking cylinder of something Jazz hoped was energon.

"Well, I'm happy to finally see you for one!" Jazz replied with his most charming grin. "Been wondering what you looked like. Apart from that, I could use some fuel, and I'm a little achy in the hip, but that's just 'cause it's new. Everything else is a-okay."

"Excellent." Prowl crossed to Jazz's pallet and knelt gracefully. "Tomorrow, I will be able to upload our language to you, Ratchet says. He wanted to give you an extra day to be on the safe side. The hip will ease once you begin to use it again, he tells me, and I've brought you fuel. Once you have fuelled, I'm to help you stand and walk around to test your repairs."

Jazz pushed himself up to an actual sitting position, all on his own for the first time in a couple of days. The hip felt a little stiff, but there was no pain or real resistance. Just a new repair, like he'd said. Prowl handed him the cylinder, the metal of which didn't feel quite like anything he'd used in Staniz. Not as finely machined, maybe? Not that Jazz cared; once the scent of the energon hit him, he realized just how hungry he really was.

"Thanks." Jazz gave Prowl a brief salute with the cylinder – was that a little smile he got in return? – and drank.

The energon had the same unusually rich taste as what Prowl'd fed him in the wain, and he thought it might have some copper and iron mixed in – made sense. His self-repair would've used both of those fixing him up, and he'd need to replenish somehow. If he went too long without, he'd just start cannibalizing parts of his own frame, and that wouldn't end well.

"We can provide you with more if you need it," Prowl told him.

"Thanks. I don't wanna cut into your stores, though."

Prowl smiled. "We will not run short, have no fear. You're healing, you need to stay fuelled." Prowl tapped the cup. "Drink, Jazz."

"Talk to me while I fuel?" Jazz offered. "I like hearing your voice. Ah, is this Ratchet's tent?"

"No, it's mine," Prowl replied. "My sibling resided with me until recently, and no one else has needed a larger tent, so I've kept mine. It was easy to set up the other side for your use."

"So, we're roommates, huh?" Jazz gave Prowl a teasing, if frank, once-over. "I can think of worse fates."

Prowl smiled, clearly enjoying the flirting. Ooh, Jazz was going to be in trouble if he kept that up!

"As can I," Prowl said. "But before anything else, you must fuel, and I must help you walk around a bit before Ratchet comes to see if anything has gone wrong. He won't be pleased if he thinks we aren't following his instructions."

Jazz chuckled. "Don't want that. Bottoms up, then."

Jazz finished his energon, and Prowl excused himself briefly to clean the cup. Then the huntmaster came back and helped Jazz to his feet. Jazz had to lean on Prowl more than he'd expected at first, but Ratchet knew his craft. Once Jazz had walked across the tent and back a couple of times, the initial stiffness had worn off, and he could manage on his own. It'd be a mega-cycle before he could run or dance and a couple more before it was advisable to transform, but the repair was complete, and it was good.

Ratchet popped in a little while later to examine Jazz and make him walk back and forth some more so the chirurgeon could see for himself how the hip was working. Ratchet clicked approvingly – that sound seemed to cross languages, Jazz thought – and explained, through Prowl, Jazz's treatment regimen for the next few mega-cycles. Regular exercise, sleep and energon with copper and iron mixed in whenever he needed it.

"We have energon from non-mechanimal sources if you would prefer," Prowl offered. "I know city dwellers aren't accustomed to it, and I think you may only have accepted it in the wain because you needed it so badly. We have energon from the wells, also."

_Did_ it bother him? It tasted a little different, was more mineral-intensive than he was used to. Still, it _was_ energon, and until Prowl had told him where it came from, he hadn't known the difference. Plus, Prowl obviously fuelled the same way, and it certainly hadn't done _him_ any harm.

"I guess I just have to get used to the idea," Jazz said slowly. "Like I said, I've only ever gotten energon from a dispenser or a bar, not from a-a…" He tried to think of mechanimal names. 'Turbo-fox,' 'glitch-mouse,' and 'retro-rat' were the only ones that came to mind, and there _had_ to be something more substantial they were hunting.

"Steelram," Prowl supplied. "The energon you've been given came from steelrams."

"Never even seen one. What're they like?" Jazz asked.

"Extremely bad-tempered," Prowl said drily. "Tricky to hunt, if you can't get them on the right kind of ground. But their energon is good, especially for the injured, and their wool is sturdy and useful."

"Useful for what?" Jazz asked, intrigued. He could get back to the issue of drinking energon that had been inside something alive later.

"Many things. Do you truly not use anything of mechanimals in your city?" Prowl asked wonderingly.

Jazz explained, briefly, what he knew about turbo-fox hunts. It didn't seem to help Prowl's confusion.

"Why would you put that much time and effort and energy into a hunt only to release the prey?" he asked.

Jazz shrugged. "Sport, I guess? It's mostly a rich mecha thing, and Staniz ain't exactly a place that has a lot of nobles or really rich mecha. There are some, sure, but mostly it's all about shipbuilding or the service industry. That's why I was leaving. It's just – it's not my scene."

Prowl nodded understandingly. "You left to find a place you belong, then."

"Yeah. Just…" Jazz shrugged. "Dunno where it is yet. But I'll find it."

"Of course," Prowl said. "But consider that your place may be searching."

Jazz made a face. "I hope not. Dunno that I wanna stay anywhere, exactly, but…guess I'll know it when I find it."

"I hope so," Prowl said gently.


	3. Chapter 3

Jazz spent part of the day asleep, then Prowl, probably picking up that he was likely to get bored staying in the tent all day, took him out to the centre of camp. It was pretty obviously a gathering area, and not just for the barrel of energon in the centre Prowl said everyone fueled from at night. A red mech was standing by it, either filling it in the first place or topping it off from smaller containers.

"Is that energon from steelrams as well?" Jazz asked.

"No. This is from whatever Ironhide and Hound brought down during their hunt today." The red mech looked up at them and said something to Prowl. "Ironhide says," Prowl translated, "it's sheepacron." Ironhide added something, sounding pleased. "He says they followed them to a copper-thornbush thicket and were able to harvest shed wool and copper-thorns as well." Prowl explained further. "The sheepacron have been shedding their summer coats, and they rub up against the copper-thorns to remove the loose wool. It can be difficult to separate the wool from the thorns, at times, so it's a task usually done in the evenings, after fuel."

"Or when someone's recovering and has a pair of empty hands?" Jazz guessed. "Yeah, I don't mind helping out with that, if you want."

Prowl glanced over at him. "Thank you, Jazz. That is appreciated."

"No problem. You're good enough to look after me, fix me, fuel me, the least I can do is help out." Jazz touched Prowl's arm, just a little gesture of thanks. "I really do appreciate it. Don't really know how else to thank you."

Prowl dipped his head in acknowledgement. "We would not leave someone to suffer – and I am glad that your head injury was not as severe as we feared. But your assistance, as is your thanks, is appreciated."

Ironhide asked something, looking between Jazz and Prowl, that made Prowl pause. Ironhide got a bit of a sly look and repeated part of it.

"You gonna translate all of that?" Jazz teased when Prowl's silence continued.

"No," Prowl said drily. "Sit down, Jazz, please, and I'll teach you how to clean the wool."

Prowl named the other Primanites for him, though they were all busy with tasks and couldn't do much more than wave to him across the circle. Jazz also got to meet the tribe's leader, Optimus Prime, a tall, broad mech in blue, white, and red who also spoke Cybex and was one of the few for whom Prowl didn't need to translate. Jazz had seen vids of Nominus, who also went by the title of Prime but was somehow different than this tribal Prime, and he decided he liked Optimus much better. Optimus didn't seem like the type to lecture about a mech's 'Primus-given place in society' for one.

"Ratchet tells me you're feeling much better, Jazz," Optimus said, crouching down low so he wasn't looming over Jazz and Prowl quite so much where they were seated on the ground. "And that Prowl is taking very close care of you."

Prowl made a soft sound of affectionate frustration at the teasing. Jazz just laughed and patted him on the hand. Jazz had a pretty good idea of what Prowl had been refusing to translate now.

"Oh yeah, mech," Jazz said, smiling. "Prowl's been really attentive. Would've gone round the bend with boredom if he hadn't spent all that time in the wain talking with me." He briefly debated mentioning the 'private concert' but decided against it. That really _was_ private, just for him and Prowl. He was looking forward to giving another one, too.

"I'm glad to hear it," Optimus said, "but not surprised. You should be flattered: Prowl's _attentions_ are rarely given."

"Yes, thank you, Optimus," Prowl said drily. "Now, I'm sure you have other things," the two words ever so faintly stressed, "to attend to tonight?"

Optimus just chuckled. "Of course, Prowl. It was good to meet you, Jazz. Enjoy your evening, both of you."

"Wow, he's a lot friendlier than I expected," Jazz observed after Optimus had left. He couldn't picture Nominus or even any of the Staniz town elders being so open.

Jazz watched Optimus interact with the others, and the Prime was just as warm and open with everyone as he had been with Jazz and Prowl. Jazz could see the mecha with the fancy titles being polite to each other but not _friendly_. Not every mech Optimus spoke with could be one of his Councillors like Prowl was, so it must have been just the way the mech was.

"No?" Prowl asked, optic raised. "How do they manage to interact with their people if they can't be on equal terms with them on at least some level?"

"Yeah, well," Jazz said. "I don't think they're too much for being 'equal' with mecha like me. Does Optimus follow the same rules he expects everyone else to?"

"Of course," Prowl said, and frowned in confusion. "Do your leaders not do so?"

"On the surface, yeah, otherwise…not so much." Jazz shrugged uncomfortably.

"I see," Prowl said politely, either not really understanding or picking up on Jazz not wanting to talk about it. "May I then assume that they do not engage in singing or storytelling with their fellow city-members?"

Even Jazz's fertile imagination failed to picture the strict, dour, members of Staniz Council singing or telling stories.

"Nah, not their thing." Jazz looked curiously across the circle, where Optimus was talking to a mech who was holding something wrapped in a small quilt against their chest and shoulder. He wondered what that was about. "Is Optimus gonna do any of that tonight?"

"Tonight it is Ironhide's turn to relate a story," Prowl said. "Would you like to connect as we did before so I can relay the translation to you without having to interrupt the storyteller, and you can still understand?"

Jazz had been starting to feel more than a little tired, but at Prowl's offer he perked up. "Yeah, mech, I'd love to!" He'd probably have to head off to their tent and get some rest right after, but Jazz was sure he could make it through a story.

Prowl made the connection and networked Jazz into his language centers, read-only access of course, and set the translation program to relay Ironhide's words directly into Jazz's processor. Ironhide told a story, apparently a well-known one among the Primanites, about the time Onyx Prime tricked Amalgamous Prime into taking on a beast form, namely a turbo-fox. Clever Amalgamous eventually tricked Onyx in turn and was able to turn back to root form, but the ability to become a turbo-fox remained. That was why, to this cycle, there were Cybertronians who turned into turbo-foxes. Jazz hadn't heard a story like it before. Most of the ones he was familiar with were either the complicated storylines of the mass entertainment broadcasts or cautionary tales about things like why you should pay attention to your work. Usually, so you didn't get sealed in the hull of a ship or eaten by a giant space monster or something. At least one involved being sealed in the hull of a ship that then got eaten by a giant space monster. Jazz found them all pretty repetitive and boring.

Either because they were connected or because he was still paying careful attention to Jazz's state, Prowl noticed how tired Jazz was and, once the story ended, asked him softly if he wanted to retire. Jazz was forced to agree, even though he would've liked to stay around the fire for a little longer. It was probably better manners to politely excuse himself and go to bed than to fall asleep anyway. Prowl helped him to the tent, made sure his hip would not suddenly give out on him as he knelt down to get into the pallet. Once Jazz was safely down and covered, Prowl excused himself, saying he wanted to speak to the Prime before the camp retired for the night.

"Sure, mech," Jazz said sleepily. He was warm and lying down, and his self-repair was cycling up and demanding some rest _right now_. "You know where I'll be if you need me."

"Yes, I do." Prowl was smiling faintly, in the dark of the tent. "Rest well, Jazz."

Jazz mumbled something that was supposed to be 'thanks,' and then his repair system's needs won out, and he was asleep.

* * *

Prowl stayed in the tent until the glow of Jazz's optics went from faint to entirely off before rising and seeking out his Prime. The circle round the fire was breaking up as mecha went off to complete evening chores and spend a little time with friends, family, and lovers before it was time to recharge. Jazz had not missed much, though Prowl was sure the curious, inquisitive, friendly mech would have liked to have seen the whole thing through. Hopefully, Jazz would be able to do so tomorrow, and he would be able to engage with the tribe more fully with the Primanite language datatrax installed.

Prowl knew that if anyone had seen him cabled with Jazz that evening, for a platonic reason or not, he was in for more teasing about his relationship with the city-dweller. He couldn't even firmly deny it: it was evident to anyone spending time with him that Jazz was an attractive mech. True, his position as Prowl's charge and dependent, however temporarily, created a power imbalance, but it was not a permanent one. Still, if Jazz chose to stay once healed, that would be different. Prowl would no longer have charge of him, and while Jazz would be expected to contribute as any other tribe member did for the duration of his stay, he would no longer be dependent on Prowl.

Prowl had been pleased with Jazz's offer to help with the wool for more reasons than just the expression of gratitude. Jazz showed a willingness to contribute even though it was not expected of him and seemed to understand that the life of a Plainswalker was not primarily leisure, unlike many city dwellers. That boded well for any expressed wish to stay being granted.

"Prowl," Optimus said, rising as Prowl approached. "Did you wish to speak with me?"

"Yes, Prime," Prowl said formally, and Optimus got the hint, excusing himself to the mecha he'd been speaking with and began to walk with Prowl away from the gathering, long strides tempered to Prowl's shorter ones.

"It's something serious, I take it?" Optimus said quietly.

"Jazz's caravan was attacked by Decepticons," Prowl said bluntly. "They're coming too near the trade routes. It may be time to call for a gathering of the tribes. The cities often do not differentiate between Plainswalker tribes. Decepticon aggression may endanger all of us."

"There has only been one attack, Prowl," Prime pointed out reasonably. "It may have been an anomaly, or someone from the caravan may have provoked them. There isn't enough evidence to establish a pattern."

"One attack that we know of," Prowl countered. "There may have been others we haven't had reports of, either because they happened in other tribe's territories or because there were no survivors to bring back tales. We don't have enough data to say one way or another, I will grant you, but Prime you and I both know that Megatron doesn't do things by halves."

"That's true, Prowl," Prime agreed. "But I'm still hesitant to call for a gathering without more evidence that the Decepticons present such a large problem."

"Then let me send out messengers," Prowl negotiated. "We know where the Onyxites, the Solusites, and the Quintusites should be. We can ask them and, if necessary, work with them to send messages to the others. At the very least, they should be warned that increasing Decepticon aggression is a possibility."

Optimus nodded, briefly, and Prowl knew he'd gotten what he really wanted. "Very well, Prowl. Tomorrow you can select and send your messengers. But send them in pairs. If the Decepticons really are becoming a bigger problem, there's safety in numbers."

"Of course, Prime." Prowl had anticipated that order. Having six of their people away from the tribe at a time would have an impact but not one that couldn't be mitigated with careful planning, at least in the short term. "Thank you for hearing me out. If you don't need me for anything else, I plan to turn in."

"Of course, Prowl." There was that teasing amusement again. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your charge for too long."

Primus, he was going to be teased about this as long as Jazz was here, wasn't he?

"Thank you, Optimus," Prowl said, keeping his voice neutral. "Good night."

* * *

Jazz had been asleep, but he woke up when Prowl re-entered the tent, even though the other mech didn't make much noise when he moved. Jazz could usually sleep through anything. Then again, while he'd shared close quarters back in Staniz, he hadn't shared a room with anyone, hadn't had many mecha who stayed for the whole night. Maybe, combined with being in a strange place, that had made the difference.

"My apologies," Prowl murmured from across the tent when he saw the blue glow of Jazz's optics. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"'S okay," Jazz murmured back. "Just sleeping in a new place, y'know? Everything go okay with Prime?"

"Yes." Prowl lay down, facing Jazz, and arranged his doors into a different configuration so he could pull the quilt up over himself. "I only wanted to relay a few more details of the attack on your caravan. Then the first watch was up, and I spent some time talking to my sibling and Hound on their return. They are both relieved to hear your surgery went well, and you can be up and around and are looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"Cool," Jazz said. "I'd like to see Bluestreak again. Like to meet this Hound, too."

"They – ah." Prowl caught the same thing Jazz did, at the same time. "I believe you may _hear_ Hound before you see him."

Faint, but extremely distinct, noises drifted through the night. Jazz was pretty sure they came from Bluestreak and Hound's tent – yup, that was Blue's voice alright, quickly muffled. On the other pallet, Prowl sighed softly.

"I believe I mentioned my sibling is newly married?" he asked rhetorically. "I generally turn down the gain on my audials for the first joor of the night."

"Don't bother me much," Jazz said honestly. "I always lived in places with pretty thin walls between rooms, so I'm used to it. Kinda learned how to tune it out after a while." Thin walls and roommates who were less considerate, noise-wise, than Bluestreak and Hound were, for that matter.

"That's just as well. They are…enthusiastic."

Jazz got the feeling from Prowl's tone that Bluestreak and Hound were keeping it down a little tonight because of the city mech sharing the tent next door.

Prowl added, sounding fondly resigned. "I expect I'll be an uncle before too much longer."

Jazz wasn't clear on how those two concepts went together. 'Facing a lot meant a strong relationship to the Plainswalkers, maybe? But lots of loving couples didn't interface much, and some didn't interface at all. It didn't stop them from requesting a newbuild from Vector Sigma if they could afford it. Plus, Ratchet's forge was good, but it wasn't up to the task of building an entire structure. Jazz could tell that much, even if he wasn't an engineer, priest, or doctor of any stripe. Sure, there was probably a passage to Vector Sigma somewhere out here – they were scattered pretty regularly around the planet after all – but where'd the Primanites get the structure to put the spark in? Maybe they traded for structures like they did a lot of other things? Must take a lot of trading, though.

The glow of Prowl's optics was out, and in the incredibly still Plains night, Jazz could tell his systems were already spiralling down into rest mode. It wasn't the time for what would probably be a long conversation, and it was pretty rude to wake your host up if you didn't really have to. Curious as Jazz was, it was something that could wait till tomorrow.

* * *

Jazz was planning to bring up the whole interface-creation thing after breakfast when something that just raised _more_ questions distracted him. Prowl brought him out to the big central fire where energon was being warmed in a communal pot and seated him next to Bluestreak. Ironhide was sitting across from them. He had a colourful bag of some kind tied around his torso. Jazz was wondering what it was when the bag suddenly moved, and a pair of impossibly tiny arms stretched out of it accompanied by an inquiring squeaking noise. The arms and hands looked like a mech's but were too small even for a recordicon. They didn't even have _armour_!

"Wha -?" Jazz managed to catch himself before he insulted his hosts by saying something stupid. Just because the Primanites weren't all fluent in Cybex didn't mean they couldn't understand some of it, and tone and body language went for a lot, too.

Prowl, who hadn't taken a seat as he planned to retrieve their energon, and had 'spaced their drinking vessels, looked down at him curiously.

"That's Hot Rod, Ironhide and Chromia's creation."

Creation? A juvenile. But that little? In a _bag_? What in Cybertron's name did Prowl mean?

"Sorry, Prowl," Jazz apologized, for once not feeling bad that he couldn't speak Primanite yet. "I just didn't expect…" Okay, yeah, he had _no idea_ how even to explain why he hadn't expected that or why he hadn't even recognized that mecha _came_ that small!

"Do you not carry your creations in slings in the cities? Or have you simply not had much experience with ---?" Prowl used a word Jazz didn't have in his on-demand datatrax, not helping his confusion.

Jazz did a thorough search of his datatrax for the word, and it came back as 'infants.' A more in-depth search gave him more detail on what an infant was: a type of juvenile that was really expensive and time-consuming. No wonder Jazz hadn't recognized the word or an infant to see it: no one Jazz knew in Staniz would have been able to afford the costs, the risk, or the time to carry and raise one. It wasn't something that was a part of the Cybertron he'd lived in.

"I mean, no one I know back home ever had one," Jazz said. "Couldn't afford the time or the risk. We're all brought online with baffles installed so we can't get…" he had to search his datatrax again for the term, "sparked. So, I've never seen one. I've never seen any mech that little and without armour."

Prowl was still clearly confused and full of questions the same way Jazz was, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't want to offend Jazz, or perhaps he had to think about how he was going to phrase his questions later.

"Hot Rod will grow," Prowl said in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring and didn't help at all. Growing was for crystals and cable-vines, it wasn't a thing that-that _people_ did. Not in Jazz's corner of Cybertron, anyway. "And his armour will develop in time, as did mine, and Bluestreak's and everyone else's that you see around you." His curiosity clearly overcame him for a moment. "I understand city dwellers have ways to bring mecha online with full armour, but you do not have infants as well? Young mecha that do not?"

"Like I said, we have juveniles, but they're mech-sized. They just don't have a full superstructure yet since their sparks won't support that much. Not till they're adults, anyway. You mostly only see rich mecha with juveniles, though." Jazz knew that wasn't precisely what Prowl meant, but it was the closest thing in his experience. "Kids are expensive. Some people mentor an adult newbuild, more go without. Most mecha are constructed by factories for factories and sparked by Vector Sigma, like me."

Now Prowl was looking at him with the confused expression of the genuinely mystified, and he crouched down as if getting closer would help clear things up. "But – surely not _everyone_ wishes to prevent conception? Would there not be others who would be willing to help a family with a young creation?"

Jazz shrugged. "I guess, if everyone's like me, they just don't think about it. I mean, why bother thinking about stuff you can't have?"

Prowl's optics flickered. "I – you've never known _anyone_ to carry? _All_ your new members come from Vector Sigma?"

"Yeah, they do."

Prowl didn't shake his head; he was too diplomatic for that. He just said, "this appears to be just one of many things that are different between our cultures. Stay there, I will retrieve our fuel."

Prowl got their energon, handing Jazz his first and waiting until he took a sip before beginning to drink his own. While they fueled, as much as Jazz tried not to, he kept catching himself looking over at Ironhide and little Hot Rod. Ironhide had unwound some kind of tube from around where his fuel tanks would be, and Jazz was pretty sure Hot Rod had it in their mouth. That must be how infants fuelled, but why couldn't they drink energon like everyone else? Was it like how juveniles couldn't handle full armour when they first came online because their sparks weren't big enough? How they didn't get any unique abilities until they were adolescents or full adults? Jazz had so many questions, and every single one he thought of seemed to spawn three more.

Why did the infant need to be in that bag thing? The only thing Jazz could think of was that it was to protect them from being damaged because they were so much smaller than the mecha around them. Their size seemed impractical, but Prowl said they grew – and that was another thing Jazz didn't understand. Getting upgraded or downgraded to a larger or smaller structure, sure, that wasn't impossible, but Prowl had used 'grow' in the way you'd talk about crystals growing. For as long as Jazz had known, right up until today, that wasn't a thing that mecha _did_.

"I'll be right back," Prowl said when they were finished, and he took Jazz's cup from him to return to the communal pile for washing. Jazz just nodded and kept thinking about the whole 'infant' deal. He was still confused when Prowl came back over to him and held out a hand to help him up.

"Ironhide has agreed to show Hot Rod to you, and perhaps let you hold him," Prowl told him. "If you feel comfortable doing so."

 _Can I hold him_ wasn't one of the questions that had even _slightly_ crossed Jazz's mind. Was it rude to refuse to hold someone's infant? "Um, okay…I won't break him or anything?"

"No," Prowl said with a reassuring smile. "Ironhide will show you how to hold him, and while infants are delicate, I don't think you would be so rough as to harm him, even accidentally."

"Primus, no!" Jazz said truthfully. That feeling only intensified when he got closer to the teeny little mech, and Ironhide pulled the covering away a little, so Jazz could see Hot Rod better.

Hot Rod, who Prowl also called 'a baby,' was no longer than the length of Jazz's arm from palm to elbow, and that was if he was generous with his measurements. The…baby did have a little helm and some armour covering other vulnerable places. The armour was so thin that Jazz didn't see how it could possibly provide him with much protection. In some areas, he didn't even have that, just places where Jazz guessed it would develop in the future. Jazz could even see, just below the surface of Hot Rod's protoform, impossibly delicate tracings of copper and iridium that he guessed would become the circuitry linking the developed armour into Hot Rod's sensory, motor, and transformation systems.

"He's so little," Jazz marvelled. "And they made him just by interfacing. Wow."

Ironhide said something, and Prowl translated. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Uh," was it rude to refuse? "Sure?"

Prowl showed Jazz how to arrange his arms, and Ironhide carefully placed Hot Rod in them, taking the kid out of the sling to do it.

"Ah…" Jazz stared down at the little mech, who stared back up at him. "Hey…Hot Rod. What's happening, little guy?"

Hot Rod looked a little uncertain and kicked briefly before grabbing his own feet and grinning up at Jazz.

"Heh. Guess you don't mind me too much, huh?" Jazz asked. He looked at Prowl. "Am I doing this right?"

Prowl smiled reassuringly and leaned over to tickle Hot Rod gently, making the little mech laugh. "You are. It only requires patience and care and understanding that they are utterly dependent on you for everything."

That didn’t sound like 'only' to Jazz. It sounded kind of terrifying, but Prowl didn't seem to think so. Ironhide and Chromia must not either, since hey, kid right here. A kid who looked like he was getting bored with Jazz, or maybe Jazz really _was_ doing something wrong, because he looked over at Ironhide and made demanding noises. Ironhide chuckled and reclaimed his juvenile, tucking him back in the sling and patting his back. Hot Rod quieted and reached for the feeding line again, sucking on it contentedly.

Prowl said something to Ironhide that sounded like he was thanking him, then stood up. Jazz followed, wondering what they were going to do now. Prowl put a hand on his arm and began to guide him back toward the centre of the camp.

"Now that you've fuelled, I'd like to upload our language pack to you, if you feel ready."

Cybertronian language packs didn't just include words and vocabulary but also idioms and connotations. After that morning, Jazz got the feeling that he could really use it.

"Yes, please."

Uploading language packs didn't usually require a full reboot, the way medical uploads sometimes did, but given that Jazz was still recovering, they decided to act as if it would. Jazz sat cross-legged on his pallet in Prowl's tent with the other mech sitting behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready, Jazz," Prowl requested.

Jazz bent his head forward, exposing the medical port on the back of his neck. "Go ahead."

Prowl's presence in his systems was not as invasive-feeling as Ratchet's medical scan had been, and it didn't last as long. Jazz had never had an upload of any kind transmit so fast; Prowl must have powerful systems.

"Wow," Jazz said in surprise. That had taken a lot less time than he'd expected. They'd been right to have him sit down, too. "That's…oh yeah, making me sleepy."

Prowl moved to let him lie down. "You may nap if you wish. No one will disturb you in my tent."

"Yeah," Jazz said, stretching out, visual systems already shutting down. "Think I will, for a bit. Thanks, Prowler."

"I'm happy to help, Jazz," Prowl said softly – affectionately? Maybe. Jazz would think about it later, when he woke up.

* * *

Prowl resisted the urge to stay and watch Jazz sleep for a time. It was not as it had been in the wain, when Jazz had known he was there and going to stay. Then, Prowl had been watching him for signs of pain or worsening injuries, and it had been acceptable. Now, Prowl just wanted to look at the handsome mech that he found so appealing. But it was not appropriate, and so he turned and left. He had runners to send and information to gather.


	4. Chapter 4

Prowl had already decided which runners to send to the Onyxites, Solusites, and Quintusites. He didn't like to separate Bluestreak and Hound, but Bluestreak was fast and would reach the furthest tribe, the Quintusites, the soonest. Bluestreak would understand the necessity. Prowl paired Bluestreak with Mirage, Bumblebee with Cliffjumper to find the Onyxites, and sent Greenlight and Lancer to the Solusites. Greenlight and Lancer hadn't had the opportunity to visit wit their kin in a while, after all, even if it would only be a brief visit. He told them to query each tribe's councillors about verified and potential Decepticon activities and inform them of the attack on Jazz's transport.

"But what if they don’t have any information?" Bluestreak asked. "Or – what if we get there, and they're not where they're supposed to be?"

"Report that back to me as well," Prowl told the assembled mecha. "They should be in the locations I provided, however, and if they are not, we will later need to determine why. It could just as easily be something innocuous – a better or worse harvest or hunt than expected in a previous stop, for example. If they are not there, search for them, but briefly, and return to camp. I'll expect you back within five cycles, at the latest."

Prowl's chosen scouts acknowledged his instructions, then transformed to their rarely-used vehicle modes and headed out in three separate directions. He watched until they were specks on the horizon and then turned back to camp and what daily chores and duties he had not been excused from while caring for Jazz. Perhaps later he would take Jazz out foraging since the exercise would be good for him, but Prowl didn't think the mech was ready to try hunting. Perhaps he never would be: no matter, Prowl would be happy to provide for him while he was here.

Even once he was healed and no longer needed Prowl to care for him.

Jazz had previously slept for an average of two-point-two joors when he was recovering. His self-repair was not demanding as many resources now, though, and a language upload was a simple installation. Prowl did not know how long Jazz would be sleeping and so he stayed away for only a joor, then checked. When he returned to the tent, Jazz was just waking up. His visor flickered briefly, then came online fully as he focused on Prowl and smiled broadly.

"Hey, there, Prowler," Jazz said, in flawless Primanite. "Nice timing, mech."

* * *

Jazz grinned up at Prowl, who looked pleased to have been greeted in his own language. Damn, Jazz liked seeing him smile!

"Hello, Jazz," Prowl replied, crossing the tent floor and kneeling smoothly next to Jazz. "How are you feeling?"

"Language pack's installed with no problem, like you heard," Jazz reported, "and my hip repair is still integrating, but I can move around on it, and it doesn't hurt. I won't be doing any racing yet, but…"

"We don't do much racing anyway," Prowl replied. "Not as an everyday thing. There are the solstice races, of course, and adolescents and new adults will frequently compete to show off their new speed, but mostly we walk. It allows us to conserve fuel and to observe our surroundings for anything that might be useful."

"Yeah, you're hunter-gatherers, right?" The language pack had included some social information as well.

"Yes," Prowl replied, coming over to crouch next to Jazz. "I understand you may not want to hunt, but if you assisted in gathering and foraging, it would be greatly appreciated."

"Sure, if someone'll show me how." Jazz's entire experience with acquiring fuel was limited to going to the dispenser or to a bar or restaurant.

"I have been excused from hunting while I care for you," Prowl said and extended a hand. "But, I will gladly teach you to forage. It's not difficult. It's something even the younger juveniles engage in – although, I will admit, their offerings are not always as useful as they believe them to be."

"Well, I don't know how much better than them I'll do," Jazz said honestly, "but I'll try."

"Excellent." Prowl helped Jazz to his feet, though Jazz didn't really need it by now. Jazz wasn't about to object to the feel of Prowl's hand in his, though. "It will be a good opportunity for you to meet with some of the other tribe members as well."

New people! That he could finally talk to! Jazz perked up – not that he'd been unhappy being all alone with Prowl. But new people! That had been one of the reasons he'd wanted to leave Staniz in the first place – that, and boredom. Okay, so this hadn't _exactly_ been how he'd pictured meeting new people when he'd left, but hey. New was new.

Probably should get word to the band, though. Let them know that he was okay, somehow.

"Sounds great," Jazz said. "Uh, the people I was travelling with, we weren't close or anything, but is there a way I could let them know I'm alright?"

"We lack a transmitter," Prowl said, "but we are due to pass by a monoformer commune within a few cycles, and they have one. I'll barter for your use of it. I don't want your people to worry about you."

"They're not really my people?" Jazz hedged. "Just… some mecha I was travelling with. But still."

"Your family?"

"I don't have one. I was brought online in a factory, as a courier. Been doing that since I got cleared of the medical checks and orientation. Never got close to any of my batch-mates or roommates or…anyone, really."

"I see. Our lives have been very different," Prowl said diplomatically. He still hadn't let go of Jazz's hand.

"Yeah." Jazz wasn't in any hurry to let go of Prowl's hand either. "Want to show me more about yours?"

"Yes, very much."

They left the tent and followed a small group of Primanites to a group of what looked, to Jazz, like oddly-shaped cables thickly grouped together. There were little nodules on them, glowing faintly in the sunlight.

"What are they?" Jazz asked, intrigued, running them against his image datatrax.

"Enerberries," Prowl replied. "We'll harvest many of them, and leave some for mechanimals and, of course, to germinate new plants."

'Germinate' was another word Jazz had to search his linguistic 'trax for: Staniz hadn't been big on, well, anything that wasn't industrial or manufactured so he definitely didn't have anything about mecha-flora in his everyday vocabulary. Living with the Primanites, even for a little while, was going to be educational. Jazz just hoped he didn't do anything really dumb – or worse, offensive, accidental or not. Prowl seemed to be making sure he wouldn't, though, giving him information and helping him learn.

"So, don't strip it bare, or there won't be any more next time around and maybe not as many mechanimals, either," Jazz translated. "Right?"

"Yes, exactly." Prowl had brought two baskets with them, and now he handed one to Jazz. "Here, let me show you how to tell which ones are ripe."

"Thanks." Jazz added, "you're probably going to have to show me a lot of stuff that's really obvious to you, too. Back home in Staniz, it's almost all industry, all the time. Energon comes out of the tap. Solid food's a treat you save up for, not something you just walk out and pick."

"I'm happy to help you, Jazz."

Jazz felt more pleased than he should have by that simple remark and smiled at Prowl. "Alright, well, while we do this, why don't you give me some more of the basics? Plainswalker one-oh-one, so to speak."

The idiom almost certainly didn’t translate accurately, but Prowl understood it anyway and smiled back. He explained what were probably very basic things to Jazz, without being condescending, and Jazz didn't bother to track the joors while he listened.

* * *

After they'd finished with the enerberries, Prowl introduced Jazz to some other tribe members. Chromia and Moonracer seemed to be assigned to look after the camp's juveniles for now: Chromia had Hot Rod in the sling now, and he appeared to be asleep. Chromia and Moonracer had baskets of colourful wires in front of them on a cloth spread out over the grass. They were twisting the wires into more baskets or bracelets, depending on the thickness and length. Moonracer was offering to show Jazz how to make a bracelet.

"I can show you a basic pattern, and once you've got that down, I can show you something fancier," she said and smiled teasingly. "Maybe you can make one for Prowl."

"Prowl doesn't seem like the bracelet type to me," Jazz said truthfully.

"Oh, not to so much to wear," Moonracer said brightly. "As a courting gift!"

"Uh…" How to turn that down and still be polite about it? He liked Prowl, wanted to learn about Plainswalker life to help him decide whether to stay and because he was curious, but he'd never done the courting thing. Just casual fragging, really. "Let me get it down, first, before I start thinking about courting gifts, how about?"

Moonracer chuckled and started to teach him, and didn't say anything more about courting. Soon Jazz found himself trying to wrap some of the thinner, shorter wires into a bracelet. The wires could be smoothed out and reused, which was good because his attempts weren't gonna win any awards any time soon. He still managed to get something decent on the fifth or sixth attempt, one he was willing to keep if not gift.

His efforts had attracted a couple of small juveniles – toddlers, his datatrax supplied - to the shared workspace. Paint had developed on what little armour they had, red on one and yellow on the other. The delicate copper and iridium tracings of future circuitry he'd seen on Hot Rod were more apparent, though still under the protoform. One of the little mecha boldly hauled themselves up on Jazz's knee and grinned at him. The second one, identical to the first in size and approximate shape, and that looked about the same age, plunked themselves down on a corner of the blanket, folded their tiny arms, and scowled. It would have been intimidating on an adult mech. As it was, it was just cute.

Jazz carefully put a hand on the bolder one's back. He didn't know if they could balance themselves and not fall over, and he had awful visions of the kid falling and getting banged up. Sure, it wasn't like it was a long distance from his knee to the ground, but Jazz had no idea how fragile juveniles this young and small were.

Chromia chuckled. "You've got Sideswipe's attention, I see. The little one on the blanket who doesn't like that is Sunstreaker. They're twins."

"Oh yeah?" Jazz said, still looking down at Sideswipe. Primus, they were so _tiny_! Bigger than Hot Rod, but still!

Jazz's fuel pump skipped when little Sideswipe suddenly folded themselves in half, helm over feet, but it seemed like it was on purpose. Sideswipe squirmed around until he could haul himself across Jazz's lap, and Jazz got a hand in place, fast, to stop him from crawling off. Sideswipe just laughed.

"Make yourself at home, Sideswipe, sure," Jazz said, chuckling in return. A tiny, angry, but oh-so-adorable huff came from Sunstreaker. Jazz looked over at him and held out a hand. "You want to come and join your sib? Got a knee free now." He wiggled his fingers, hopefully enticingly. It'd worked on his friend's cyber-cat, so… "Come on, I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sunstreaker stared at the hand, apparently thinking it over. Sideswipe laughed and chirped. Sunstreaker looked at them and made a negative-sounding noise. Sideswipe bounced in place – Jazz hastily wrapped an arm around them, just in case – and chirped rapidly. Whatever they were saying, or vocalizing, it convinced Sunstreaker, who crawled over and climbed up into Jazz's lap. Sideswipe immediately pounced on their sibling with a hug, earning another huff, but Sunstreaker relaxed.

Okay. Okay, so Jazz now had a lap full of teeny-tiny mecha, and absolutely no idea what to do with them. Of course, that was when Prowl appeared.

"I came to ask if you wanted to meet our bard, Downbeat, and perhaps become his student, even temporarily, but I see you've already made friends," Prowl said, sounding amused.

"Heh, yep, I guess so," Jazz said, smiling down at the two juveniles. Sideswipe smiled back; Sunstreaker just looked a little less put out. "But yeah, I'd like to meet Downbeat. Always good to meet another music-mech. I'll learn from him too if he'll teach me. Kinda self-taught up till now." Jazz looked over at Moonracer and Chromia. "You don't mind…?" It wasn't like anything he'd made so far was trade-worthy, but he didn't want to just take off if he'd somehow committed to something.

Chromia shook her head. "No, go on, Jazz. We'll see you around camp later."

"Yeah, and you can come work with us tomorrow as well," Moonracer added. "Same time. I'll help you with those closing ties."

Yeah, he hadn't been doing that great at those. They were way too loose and worked free too easily.

"Sure thing." Jazz looked down at the juveniles. "Well, that just leaves these two…" Aww, but Sideswipe had snuggled up against him and looked so cute Jazz didn't want to disturb them.

Prowl chuckled. "So it does." He crouched to address the juveniles. "Hello, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. Did you both introduce yourselves properly to Jazz before climbing all over him?"

Sideswipe chirped and clicked back at Prowl. It was nonsense to Jazz, but Prowl gave every appearance of listening intently.

"I see," Prowl said gravely, obviously trying to hide a smile. "Well, I am sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I must borrow him. Perhaps you can play with Jazz later, does that sound alright?"

Sideswipe hummed softly then made a sound that was almost like 'yeah.'

"Why, thank you, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker." Prowl glanced over at Chromia, who nodded and reached for the nearest twin. Moonracer got the other one, who made upset squeaks until they were handed over to join their sibling on a new lap. Prowl offered Jazz a hand, which Jazz accepted, and helped him up. "You seemed comfortable with them," Prowl observed as they walked.

Jazz laughed. "Mech, I had no idea what to do with them once I had them! Sideswipe climbed up on me, and I only invited Sunstreaker 'cuz the kid didn't look happy, and I wanted to cheer them up."

Prowl chuckled. "Sunstreaker doesn't like to be separated from Sideswipe. I'm not sure if its because they're twins, or because they're the only juveniles of their age here unless we cross paths with another tribe. Infants are only created every few stellar-cycles. Bluestreak and I are fifteen stellar-cycles apart, for instance."

"I came online in a batch of nineteen other mecha," Jazz said. "They just build us whenever they need us, in whatever number they need, plus one just in case someone goes offline." He'd only meant to share his background, but there must have been something in his voice because Prowl gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"You sound unhappy in your former life."

"Yeah, I was." No point denying it, it was why he'd been leaving, after all.

"I enjoy my life," Prowl said matter-of-factly, "but I'm aware it isn't an easy one. We are constantly looking for fuel, constantly making and repairing what we need, and we have our share of disagreements. It isn't the relaxed, carefree paradise city dwellers often believe it to be. But, I find it fulfilling."

"I didn't leave Staniz for easy," Jazz said. "I wasn't happy, I didn't like it, I didn't fit – I didn't know if leaving was going to be any better, but I knew it wasn't going to get any better if it stayed. I dunno, maybe I was running away, but…"

"Running away is something juveniles do when they're not getting what they want," Prowl said. "You were walking away from a life that made you miserable. There's a difference. You may not find that life here, either, of course."

"Might not," Jazz said, meeting Prowl's honesty with honesty. "It's too early to say. I'm not even cleared to transform yet, and with Decepticons raiding caravans, I'm sure not heading out on my own."

"I would send scouts with you if you wanted to leave," Prowl assured him. "I wouldn't let you go alone."

Jazz didn't get a chance to reply to that because Prowl stopped in front of a tent whose front flaps were tied back. Prowl clapped his hands twice to get the inhabitant's attention, the formal version of knocking on a tent, Jazz's new datatrax told him. The mech inside, who seemed to be writing something, looked up and smiled.

"Huntmaster Prowl!" they said, beaming. "Bright day! Is this my potential new student you bring me?"

"Bright day, Bard Downbeat," Prowl replied with a nod. "It is. This is Jazz of Staniz, and he requests the privilege of learning from you."

"The city dweller, hmm?" Downbeat got to their feet and came over to examine Jazz. "Well, bright day to you too, Jazz of Staniz."

Jazz checked the new social datatrax to see why everyone was being formal and found it was normal when you were asking to be a master's student. Prowl and Downbeat were using titles and full names, so Jazz did too, hoping he wouldn't misstep.

"Bright day, Bard Downbeat." Jazz glanced at Prowl to see if he'd done that right, but Prowl didn't look offended or as if he were about to correct Jazz, and neither did Downbeat.

"So, do you want to be a student, or do you want to learn to be a Plainswalker bard, hm?" Downbeat asked with a slightly raised optic ridge, and Jazz just knew the question was a test.

"Bard Downbeat, I'm gonna be honest with you," Jazz said frankly, hoping he was giving the right answer. Prowl would've coached him if there were something specific he was supposed to say. "I just started learning how to play a little while ago from vids online, and from what Prowl told me, I'd have to know way more about Plainswalkers than I do to be a bard. I don't know if I've got the talent to write songs, let alone sagas. I don't even know for sure if I'm staying or not. So, I'll be grateful for anything you can teach me while I'm here, but I'm not looking to follow in your tracks that way."

"Heh. Smart lad, to know your limits," Downbeat said approvingly. "Are you willing to work beyond them?"

"If I can," Jazz said, again being completely honest. "I mean, they're called limits for a reason, right? Like, a light transport isn't gonna haul a shuttle, no matter how much they want to."

Downbeat smiled, clearly pleased by Jazz's responses.

"Very true, young one," he agreed. "Well, then. Since you already play, come in and show me what you know. You'll use my instruments for today and bring your own tomorrow. Prowl, I'll return him to you when I'm done with him."

"Very well," Prowl said, sounding amused. "Jazz, I'll leave you in Downbeat's hands."

"See you, Prowl." Jazz watched Prowl start to walk away and then turned back to Downbeat. "Alright. Show me where you want me and tell me what you want to hear."

* * *

According to Downbeat, a lot of what Jazz did was either slightly incorrect or even flat-out wrong, which was a little disappointing to hear. Well, Jazz had signed up for this to learn, and he wasn't the type to ignore the expert just because he didn't like what they told him. So he dealt with it, and a lot of that first lesson was spent going over what he had to un-learn. Downbeat kept him for a joor of lessons and then another of practice, before bringing him back to the centre of camp. Prowl was there, sitting on a blanket with small stacks of weapons on either side of him, apparently checking them. Jazz was sure the long pointy ones were spears, but he wasn't entirely sure of anything else.

"Hello again, Jazz," Prowl said, looking up with a warm smile aimed at Jazz. "Downbeat, I trust you found him an acceptable student?"

"I might be able to do something with him," Downbeat said, patting Jazz's shoulder affectionately to let him know he was teasing. "But while I decide what, let me leave him in your capable hands."

Downbeat and Jazz said goodbye, not nearly as formally as they'd said hello, and Prowl moved to give Jazz some space on the blanket as well. Jazz took it, looking curiously at the piles of sharp things.

"You don't hunt with guns?" Jazz asked. What little he knew of hunting said that's how it was done.

"Anything larger than a turbo-fox will only be made angry by a projectile from a weapon reasonably sized to bring on a hunt. Energy blasters are too likely to ignite the mechanimal's energon," Prowl said, explaining why they didn't have any guns. " Bladed weapons may also if they strike a strut or other internal and create a spark, but it's far less likely."

That made sense, but…

"Does it feel weird to kill something?" Jazz asked hesitantly.

Prowl didn't stop checking the weapons, passing them through his hands with practiced motions.

"The first time I killed a mechanimal," Prowl said thoughtfully, "I was not quite an adult, slightly more than midway between adolescence and maturity. I had trained, I had practiced, and I had been found qualified to go on a brief hunt, not far from our main camp. There was a herd of sheepacron that had come closer than we expected, and so my first hunt was moved up. My target was an older sheepacron, still valuable, that was lagging behind the herd – one doesn’t take the strongest animals, generally. I was allowed to stalk it on my own and choose my time to throw my spear. I stalked it carefully, and I chose the moment to throw my spear.

"I remember being anxious, worried that my aim might not be true, that I would need to use a secondary weapon to finalize the kill, that the sheepacron might escape. None of this is a source of shame, you understand, these are all things that can happen to even experienced hunters. I was still quite young, of course, so it made me more anxious than an experienced adult would have been. But none of that happened," Prowl continued. "My aim was true, and I felled the mechanimal immediately. When I walked over to claim my kill, I did not feel triumphant, and I did not feel bad. I was pleased that my first hunt had gone well, but the act itself gave me no pleasure and no guilt. I had killed the sheepacron to make sure that my tribe had fuel and materials. Its death was a necessity, no more and no less."

"It sounds – I mean, we don't have to kill for our fuel back home, so I guess I don't have anything to compare it to," Jazz said slowly. "I don't think I'd ever want to kill something, though. I mean, what you said makes sense, so I get why you do it. I don't mind drinking mechanimal energon, though. I mean, it's not like you're wasting them."

"No one will ask you to kill a mechanimal," Prowl said gently. "Nor ask you to drink mechanimal energon if you truly don't wish to. And, I'm more than happy to provide for you so long as you choose to remain with us, no matter how long."

"No matter how long?"

"No, I – " Prowl glanced away. "Well. No."

"Right, um…" Floundering for something to say or do, Jazz finally settled for gesturing toward the weapons. "I still want to help out, though, where I can. Anything I can do here?"

Prowl seemed grateful for the change of subject. "Yes, certainly. I'll show you how to check the welds. They should look like this…"

Jazz focused on what Prowl was showing him, and the subject of how long Jazz would be staying was quietly dropped. For now.

* * *

That night, when everyone gathered for evening fuel, Jazz was able to not only understand what was being said but to stay up longer than he had the night before. Not as late as everyone else, though: his repairs were still integrating. He thought it might be tomorrow like Ratchet had said, and he was looking forward to getting back on his wheels.

Prowl once again insisted on bringing Jazz his energon, even though Jazz was mobile enough now to get it himself. Jazz wondered if this was part of Prowl's promise to provide for him or just basic Primanite hospitality. Jazz was the only guest they had right now, so far as he knew, so it wasn't like he could gauge based on how anyone else got served dinner. Jazz was pretty sure the only other newcomer here was Hound, and he wasn't exactly a guest. He was also definitely getting his own energon, but –

"Where's Bluestreak?" Jazz asked Prowl once the Huntmaster had sat down beside him.

"Bluestreak is one of our swiftest scouts," Prowl answered. "I sent him to another tribe, seeking word of Decepticon activity, and to tell them of the attack on your transport. I need information to determine if there is a pattern, and the others need to be alerted if the Decepticons are becoming still more aggressive. I sent Mirage with him for safety. Other pairs have been dispatched to other tribes."

"D'you think it might've been a one-off?" Jazz asked hopefully. Getting attacked on a supposedly safe transport was definitely not anything he'd wish on anyone else!

"I don't have enough data to say either way."

Prowl had brought a little bowl of the enerberries they'd picked over, along with the fuel, and he offered some to Jazz. Jazz had been tempted to try them when they were out there, but he wasn't sure if he was allowed. Prowl hadn't indulged, after all. Jazz tried one now and made a pleased sound of surprise when he bit down on it.

"That is _good_!" It was like an energon goodie, but with more of a metallic tang than the treats he'd had before. "There's not just energon in them, is there?"

"No. When the vines draw up energon from the ground, it brings trace minerals with it. Hydrocarbons, too, that's where the skin of the fruit comes from." Prowl ate one himself, clearly savouring it.

It was a good look on him, Jazz thought.

"Is there a lot of stuff out here like these?" Jazz asked.

"If you know where to look, yes. I'll show you more places and things to forage tomorrow."

"I'm not going to be keeping you from anything, am I?" Jazz asked. Prowl was looking after him, yeah, but he wasn't sure how long Prowl'd be able to be excused from his duties.

"Not at all, especially since I can handle what duties I have either while showing you our ways, or while you're with Downbeat. Besides," Prowl added, and Jazz was sure he was teasing, "there's always more sheepacron wool."

"Yeah, no kidding, think I've still got bits of it between my finger joints."

Prowl just chuckled. "You might at that." He made to lift Jazz's hand, maybe to examine it for bits of wool, then seemed to realize what that would look like to the onlookers and withdrew.

Jazz was kind of sorry, but at the same time, he got it. Not exactly the time or place for them to start holding hands. Maybe once he got the all-clear from Ratchet and Prowl wasn't assigned as his guardian anymore.

"Going back to what we were discussing before, so far as the Decepticons are concerned," Prowl continued, "we should have more than enough warriors to keep the tribe safe. You won't be expected to fight."

Jazz had been in his fair share of bar fights back home, and he'd done pretty well for himself. He had a feeling that the Decepticons would be a bigger threat than an overcharged dockworker, though. He didn't know how to fight against the kinds of weapons they might be using, either, just fists and the occasional vibro-blade. Prowl had shown him a whole bunch of stuff when they were looking over the weapons earlier, including blasters and some nasty-looking swords. Jazz knew he didn't stand a chance against someone who knew what they were doing with them. He didn't particularly like the feeling of being helpless, though. Too much like the way he'd felt in the transport, right before it tipped, not knowing what was about to happen.

"I've never been in a fight like what happened at the transport," Jazz said honestly. "But there's gotta be something I can do."

"Sometimes, the best thing you can do is to stay safe and remain calm." Prowl put a hand on Jazz's arm. "I've no intention of letting anything happen to you, Jazz."

Jazz smiled, feeling all warm around the spark. "Thanks, Prowler."

Jazz got to hear Downbeat sing for the tribe that night, though he wasn't asked to join in. He wasn't surprised at that, or upset. He'd only had one lesson, and Downbeat was singing a story from history, and Jazz _really_ wasn't ready to relay Primanite history, especially not back to the Primanite tribe! At least he could understand the words tonight, though. Downbeat sang the history of their founding by the unnamed Thirteenth Prime and how he had given his life for that of the tribe, promising to return one day when they were fated to face a great trial. There were more songs, upbeat ones, then the tempo of the entertainment gradually slowed. Downbeat sang a softer ballad, and Jazz found himself swaying, and Prowl put an arm around his shoulders.

"Are you tired?" Prowl murmured in a voice pitched for Jazz's audials only.

"Little," Jazz murmured back. "What's it mean if I fall asleep on you in front of everyone?"

Prowl chuckled gently. "It means you're a very tired mech who is still recovering from his repairs. Would you like me to help you to the tent?"

"Won't be rude, will it? I mean, Downbeat's still going." Jazz frowned a little. "Or would it be ruder to fall asleep in front of him?"

"It won't be rude either way," Prowl assured him. "You can't help being in recovery, after all. What you need to worry about is what Ratchet will say if you don't get the rest you need."

Jazz glanced over at Ratchet, who was watching them alright. "Yeah, okay. Pretty sure I'm almost healed, though."

"You're healed when Ratchet says you're healed," Prowl replied, standing and helping Jazz to his feet as well.

"Yeah, not gonna argue with that." At least this time, when they got to Jazz's pallet in Prowl's tent, he could manage to lie down by himself. "See you in the morning. G'night, Prowler."

Prowl's hand rested gently on his shoulder, and his voice was warm. "Goodnight, Jazz."

Prowl returned to the circle, leaving Jazz to fall asleep on his own. Jazz was not quite asleep enough that he didn't hear someone call out to Prowl that he was coming back too early as the Huntmaster left the tent. His last thought was to wonder if it had made Prowl blush and how adorable it would be if it had.


	5. Chapter 5

Ratchet examined Jazz again the next day and declared him healed enough to transform. He had Jazz do just that and put him through a few short laps around the camp to test the repairs. Prowl watched him thoughtfully.

"You're quite fast, aren't you?" Prowl asked when Ratchet let Jazz go with a clean bill of health. They were talking as they walked across the camp. Prowl was taking Jazz to a different foraging ground today. "If you stay, I could use you as a scout if you're interested. It's one of the roles Bluestreak holds."

Of course, Jazz had to ask what exactly it was a scout did, and Prowl explained. He would range ahead of the tribe, ensuring the path was clear and checking the area to see if there was anything that they could use. He might also be asked to act as a messenger, the same reason Bluestreak was away right now, and perhaps even to bring back information on potential threats, like the Decepticons, if they came too near. Jazz liked the sound of it, overall, and he agreed.

"Excellent," Prowl said, pleased. "I'll ask Bluestreak to begin training you once he returns and has been debriefed."

Jazz liked Prowl's gregarious younger sibling and didn't mind the thought of spending with him. "Sounds good, Prowler. When are you expecting him back?"

"Sometime within the next four cycles if all goes well."

"Are you worried about him?"

"Yes, of course. Bluestreak can take care of himself, and Mirage is just as capable, but – he is my younger sibling. Our creators expect me to look after him."

That was the first time Prowl had referred to his creators, and he used the present tense, so it sounded like they were still alive.

"Are your creators, um, travelling with another tribe?" Jazz asked, hoping he was right.

"They no longer travel. They stay at the winter camp, to defend and care for it."

"That's where you're headed now, right? The winter camp?"

"Yes. We'll arrive in late autumn, spend the winter, and begin travelling again in the early spring." Prowl glanced over at him. "You may wish to decide whether you will stay with us or go back to the cities relatively shortly. The monoformers commune, in addition to letting you send a message to your travelling companions, would be the best place for you to decide to turn back. It isn't long after that we would no longer be able to send an escort with you and ensure their safe return to our winter camp. I would not recommend that you attempt to return to a city on your own, though we will not stop you if you truly want to make an attempt. The Forgotten Plains are not a kind place to be, especially in the winter, even for those of us who live here. Mecha who are unfamiliar with it don't survive it. We find them, sometimes," Prowl added. "We bury them when we find them. I know city-dwellers smelt their dead, but a portable smelter large enough to hold a mech is impractical."

"We don't all get smelted down," Jazz said, not sure why he was telling Prowl this. "Some of the upper castes do, but workers like me, anything that's still useable gets taken out, put in someone else. I've probably got bits in me that belonged to two, maybe three mecha before me."

"We do that too," Prowl told him. "But only when the deceased has expressed a wish for it to happen, perhaps said who they want their components to go to. Bluestreak has our First Creator's missile launchers. I have our Second Creator's lightbar – she left the tribe for a time to work as an Enforcer in Praxus."

"Dunno who's parts I got, if anyone's," Jazz admitted. "Never really thought about it. Hope they're okay with me having them, though, if you can still care about that stuff once you've gone offline."

Prowl hummed thoughtfully. "Do you believe in an afterlife, Jazz?"

"Dunno," Jazz said. "Never really thought about that, either. I mean, I always figured I wouldn't make it that long, would probably have more time to experience it than to think about it."

Prowl looked at him. "Is the lifespan so short in the cities?"

Jazz shrugged. "It is for mecha like me. Factory workers, miners, assembly bots…. They can always just make more of us, after all. They usually make an extra on each order, just cause there's sometimes one who doesn't make it."

Prowl frowned deeply. "That does not seem right, to me."

"Yeah, never seemed right to me either. Part of the reason I took off."

"I am sorry," Prowl said, and – very hesitantly – took Jazz's hand in his, warm and strong. "You deserve better."

"Thanks, Prowler."

They spent the rest of the morning checking the status of the energon springs the tribe used when they camped here and observed a machadron herd that Prowl was surprised to see.

"They're off their usual route," Prowl said thoughtfully. "I would expect them to normally be ten more hics from here."

"Why'd they be this far off course?" Jazz asked.

"Predators branching out, changes in the energon wells, a change in the availability of the gallium-grass they graze on," Prowl answered. "Most of the causes would be natural, but there's always the possibility of mecha interfering or driving them into new areas."

"Decepticons?"

"Maybe. It could also be another tribe or city-dwellers. When the monoformers built their commune, it disrupted the hunting paths of a family of cyber-wolves, for instance."

"Is it something to worry about?"

"No." Prowl turned away, putting a hand on Jazz's arm to guide him back to the camp. "Not yet, at least. I'll see what news my scouts bring back. The Quintusites hunt that herd, they'll know what might have caused their change in trail."

"'Kay." Jazz didn't know much about mechanimals or their habits, but as they walked back to camp, he didn't think Prowl looked like a mech that wasn't worried.

* * *

The next three cycles continued as the first ones had, with Jazz helping out where he could around camp in the mornings, learning from Downbeat in the afternoons, more work, and then listening to songs and stories with the tribe until it was time for bed. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who turned out to be the Prime's kids, had decided that Jazz was a favourite adult and more than once fell asleep snuggled up to him. They sometimes climbed on Prowl, too, who seemed happy to let them do so, readily cuddling them when they started to get tired. Jazz got less nervous the more he was around the twins, but he didn't stop freaking out a little over how small and fragile they were. They looked even smaller when Optimus reclaimed them, cradling them in his powerful arms as he carried them off to his family's tent.

"I remember when Bluestreak was that small," Prowl remarked wistfully.

"Missing him, huh?" Jazz asked. "He should be back soon, right?"

"Tomorrow, if all went well."

Jazz put a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't spend a lot of time with him, but I know you wouldn't have sent him out there if he couldn't handle it."

"I know, but I can't help worrying. I've been looking out for him since he was smaller than the twins."

Jazz squeezed Prowl's shoulder gently. "You're a good sibling, Prowl," he said reassuringly, though Prowl knew Jazz didn't have siblings and hadn't really had the concept the way the Primanites understood it until recently. Maybe Jazz's opinion on that didn't carry much weight.

Prowl didn't seem to think so, smiling at him. "Thank you."

Jazz got to see Prowl and his sibling interact, really interact, the very next day when Bluestreak and Mirage returned from their trip to the Quintusites. Hound was out hunting some of the machadrons Prowl and Jazz had spotted yesterday, so Bluestreak went straight to his sibling and hugged him enthusiastically.

"Hi, Jazz!" Bluestreak said, turning to him. "Wow, you look a lot better than you did the last time I saw you, and Ratchet fixed your visor and everything. Are you feeling better? You must be better if Ratchet let you up."

"Yeah, Blue," Jazz said with a smile, "I'm a lot better. Ratchet fixed me up, and Prowl here's been taking good care of me."

"I bet," Bluestreak said, but there was no teasing edge to it like Jazz had kind of expected, given some of the reactions he'd gotten around camp to him and Prowl hanging out so much. He didn't really feel like it was just because Bluestreak had been away, either. "Prowl, both Mirage and I both think it might be best for Prime to hear what we've got to report. Can you meet Mirage with me at Prime's tent?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be there, momentarily." Prowl turned to Jazz. "I'm sure you know your way to Downbeat's by now?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Jazz gave Prowl's hand a light squeeze. "Go on, look after what you gotta look after, and I'll see you sometime after my lesson, okay?"

Prowl smiled at him. "Of course, Jazz."

Jazz smiled back. "Alright. Blue? Good to see you again, mech, we'll hang out later, okay?"

"Sure, Jazz!"

Bluestreak looked at him curiously while he and Prowl crossed the camp. "Downbeat's giving Jazz lessons? Or – he's still staying in your tent, right?"

"Yes, to both."

"Uh-huh. And how's it been going between you two?" Bluestreak persisted. "Pretty well? I mean, you don't normally let anyone hold your hand."

"Jazz is quite friendly," Prowl said neutrally. "He's getting along well with everyone, enjoys studying with Downbeat, and contributes a reasonable share of work for someone new to living with the tribe."

"Mhm."

"And yes," Prowl continued softly, "I find him attractive, and I enjoy his company." There was no harm telling this to his chatty sibling; the rest of the camp had figured it out and weren't shy about their belief Jazz and Prowl should formally court. "He may part from us at the monoformers' commune. I don't even know if he plans to stay the winter."

"But you want him to." Prowl was silent, and, after a moment, Bluestreak put a hand on his shoulder. "Prowl. You want him to."

"Yes." Prowl changed the subject. "I'd also like you to begin training him as a scout. I believe he could be an asset in that area."

"Sure, okay," Bluestreak agreed. "It can't hurt to have more scouts, even if I just keep him pretty close to the camp. I mean, he won't know how to survive on the plains alone if he gets stuck out there."

"No," Prowl agreed. "Another reason for him to depart at the – "

"Oh, stop it," Bluestreak said, sounding amused. "You know you don't want him to leave."

"Bluestreak, I've known him less than a deca-cycle."

"No one's asking you to sling him over your shoulder and carry him into camp," Bluestreak said, and from his smile, he was reminiscing about doing that with Hound. "Just get to know him, Prowl."

"He is attractive," Prowl admitted. "And I enjoy spending time with him. I would like it if he stays."

Bluestreak put an arm around Prowl's shoulders. "There you go. Not so hard, right?"

"Bluestreak," Prowl said matter-of-factly, "I may be your sibling, but I'm also your Huntmaster. Tread carefully."

Bluestreak just laughed and tugged Prowl toward him in a half-hug. "You love me."

Despite his sibling's teasing, Prowl smiled. "True."

Mirage and Optimus were already waiting at the Prime's tent, seated inside. Prowl and Bluestreak nodded to them both – Optimus rarely stood on ceremony – and took seats on the rugs on the floor, forming a rough circle with the other two.

"Welcome back, Bluestreak," Optimus said calmly. "Please, begin your report."

"Yes, Prime." Bluestreak rubbed a hand on his thigh, an anxious gesture he'd had since he was an adolescent, his teasing mood of earlier gone. "I don't know if Mirage told you much so far?"

"I haven't," Mirage assured him. "We were waiting for both of you."

"None of the other Councillors?" Prowl asked, frowning.

"We wanted to speak with you first," Mirage replied, "and see if you feel it's necessary to inform the others."

"I see," Prowl said slowly, wondering if it were only because he'd sent the scouts on their mission that he'd been invited to hear the Prime's debrief of them. "Very well, then. Mirage, Bluestreak, proceed."

"Right," Bluestreak said and rubbed at his thigh again. "So, we headed out to where the Quintusites are supposed to be this time of year, but we ran into them sooner than we expected. They said they'd been pushed off their path when the game animals they hunt changed their patterns."

"That makes sense," Prowl said. "Jazz and I observed a machadron herd that I know is normally hunted by the Quintusites not far from our camp, where they wouldn't normally be."

"Yes," Mirage put in, "they mentioned that. They were doing well from previous hunts and so didn't hunt machadron this year, however."

Prowl filed that away for later: they could undoubtedly use machadron wool, components, and energon, and they could get extra without depriving the other tribe.

"Yeah, and it isn't just the machadrons," Bluestreak continued. "They've seen sheepacron and steelrams off their usual tracks too, but not by as much as the machadrons. They've also not had contact with some of the traders they usually meet, and some of the ones they have met with have had stories like – like Jazz's."

"And not everyone has survived some of these other attacks," Mirage added quietly. "Jazz's transport may have been very lucky."

Something cold curled around Prowl's spark at the thought of having lost Jazz before he'd even met him. "I see. City mecha and traders?"

"Yes," Mirage said. "The Quintusites hadn’t heard of any tribes being attacked. Not yet."

"Some of the tribes are fairly isolated," Optimus said, looking troubled. "They interact with the others very little, and so the Quintusites may simply not have had word yet."

"It would be best to wait until the other two teams return," Prowl said. "We've only heard from one other tribe so far, we don't have enough information yet."

"We know the Decepticons are a problem," Optimus countered. "We know they're violent, and we know their aggression is increasing. What we don't know is why."

"The Quintusites didn't know why either," Bluestreak said. "But they seemed pretty worried. They're also concerned about getting back to their wintering grounds since they've been bumped off their usual route. They don't know how it's going to affect their timing."

"They would be welcome to winter with us, provided by Council agrees," Prime said immediately. His optics twinkled mischievously as he looked at Bluestreak. "After all, it worked out favourably when the Onyxites stayed with us last year."

"Heh, let me have a couple of years with my current spouse before we look at becoming a trio," Bluestreak said with a bit of a smile, some of his good humour restored. "Do you want me to head back to them and give them the invitation?"

"That depends on the Council's answer, though I can't see them saying no," Prime said.

"I certainly have no reason to object to the Quintusites wintering with us," Prowl said. "You are my fastest scout, and if necessary, I'll send you, but I'll make sure you have a few cycles with Hound first."

"Thanks, Prowl." Bluestreak smiled warmly. "I know we weren't gone that long, but I missed him."

Prime chuckled knowingly. "Go on, then, Bluestreak. Spend some time with Hound. I think we have everything we need for now. Mirage, you can go too."

"Thank you, Prime," Mirage murmured and rose gracefully.

Bluestreak patted Prowl on the shoulder as he passed but didn't make any further comment. Prowl didn't rise, waiting for Prime to address him or dismiss him. He didn't have to wait long.

"Well, Prowl," Optimus said finally. "What do you think?"

"I think we need to be vigilant," Prowl said, "but again, I will reserve judgment until we hear back from the Solusites and the Onyxites."

"Agreed. And speaking of wintering, what of Jazz?"

"I've informed him he'll want to make a decision before we leave the monoformers commune and that I will not spare scouts to take him across the plains in the winter. I also plan to have Bluestreak train him as a scout if he stays. And yes," Prowl added, knowing what the next question was going to be, "I'd like him to stay."

Prime gave him a knowing look. "You haven't told him that yet, have you?"

"I – have not."

"Is it part of why you offered to train him as a scout?"

"Of course. It's also why I brought Jazz to Downbeat, why I've introduced him to others around the camp. If he's going to stay, he'll need more emotional connections than just myself." Prowl added quietly, "if he doesn't stay, I want him to have good memories."

Prime smiled. "I'm sure he will."

* * *

Jazz had been enjoying his lesson with Downbeat and was a little disappointed to have it end early when a messenger came to the tent. Downbeat was one of Prime's Councilors as well, and he'd been summoned. The bard gave Jazz some exercises and told him to spend the rest of the lesson time practicing. Jazz decided not to hang around in Downbeat's tent, because being in the mech's space when he wasn't there felt weird, so he wandered out to find a place in camp. Most of the camp was out foraging, Ratchet was labouring over his forge, and while he could hear the twins laughing somewhere, he couldn't see them. It would have felt weird to sit alone in the central gathering area, and he didn't see anyone he could join. Shrugging, Jazz ducked into Prowl's tent for the ground cloth he sat on at nights in the circle. He felt less awkward being alone in Prowl's tent than he had in Downbeat's seeing as, y'know, he was living there. The ground cloth was pretty, woven in a pattern that reminded him of the vines and leaves of the berry bushes, and Jazz was amazed that Prowl found it everyday enough to sit on. That Prowl had enough of these to have one as a _spare_. Jazz would've just sat on the ground, but apparently, grit might work its way into seams if he did that, hence the cloth.

Jazz took the cloth back outside and spread it in front of the tent, the way he'd seen others do. Downbeat had loaned him a student guitar, and Jazz plugged it into his systems and sat there playing scales and exercises. The sounds of the camp were all around him, and he played at a low enough volume that he could hear them over his own music. There was a breeze, washing softly over him, and the air smelled fresh in a way he'd never known back in Staniz. The tent occasionally creaked, tugging lightly at its guy wires. Jazz's fingers slowed on the strings as he sat there, taking it all in and wondered – could he do this for the rest of his life? There was no way he'd seen everything about Plainswalker life, not yet, and he believed Prowl when the mech said it wasn't easy, could even be dangerous. But living in Staniz hadn't always been easy either. Jazz had known plenty of mecha who'd been damaged or even killed working dockside or in the shipyards. Cities had their own dangers.

 _And they don't have Prowl_ , he thought, as the mech himself appeared, walking toward Jazz. Sun limned the edges of his doors, and he looked grave and thoughtful, right up until he saw Jazz when he smiled. Jazz smiled back, fingers stilling on the strings of his borrowed guitar.

"You look like you belong there," Prowl said, coming to crouch next to Jazz. "Cross-legged on a mat in front of your tent."

"Yeah, I'm only borrowing half the tent, though," Jazz pointed out, still smiling. "Guy who owns it might get sick of me at any moment. You might have to have words with him."

"I'll see what I can do," Prowl said, amused. Jazz liked the way he smiled. "Jazz, will you be alright in camp on your own for a cycle? The machadron herd we saw is the one usually hunted by the Quintusites, but they haven't culled it this year. I'm taking a hunting party out once my other scouts return – the Quintusites may over-winter with us, and we may need the extra supplies, even though they'll bring their own."

Jazz was immediately interested in meeting another group of Plainswalkers. They obviously followed a different member of the Thirteen, so how would they differ from the Primanites?

"Yeah, I'll be okay," Jazz said. He grinned flirtatiously at Prowl. "Miss you, though."

Prowl – was that? It was! The faintest little blush of darker blue around the edges of his optic lenses. "I'll miss you too."

Whatever might have happened after that was interrupted by the sound of the camp lookout's horn. Prowl looked away, listening. Jazz guessed there was some kind of meaning to the intervals used, and that was confirmed when Prowl reluctantly made to stand.

"The other scouts are back," Prowl explained. "Both teams. I want to debrief them immediately."

"So, you'll be heading out tonight?"

"Yes, most likely. Bluestreak and Hound will be right next to you overnight if you need anything."

Jazz chuckled. "Yeah, I think I'll let the newlyweds get reacquainted unless I really, _really_ need something."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that," Prowl said with a smile. "But if you are in need, anyone else would gladly assist you." His smile faded a bit. "I may have to head out on the hunt immediately after speaking with the scouts."

"Machadron aren't dangerous, are they?" Jazz asked. Sure, Prowl was an experienced hunter, but those had been some big mechanimals, and they could probably do a lot of damage to a mech if they wanted to.

"Any animal can be dangerous if sufficiently motivated," Prowl said, "but I promise to be careful."

"Good. Don't want to lo – see anything bad happen to you." Jazz caught himself last second. It was way, way too early to even think about Prowl being his to lose, no matter how much he liked him. Prowl caught the slip – Jazz just knew he had – but didn't comment on it.

"I – " Someone called to Prowl from across the campground, and he stopped, reluctantly. "Perhaps, once I'm back from the hunt, we can…well…"

"Yeah, I gotcha. Go on, Prowler. See you in a cycle or so."

"Good-bye, Jazz."

As Prowl walked away, Jazz felt something like regret that they hadn't been able to talk just then. Something would have happened, he was sure, that would tip the scales on his decision whether to stay the winter or go. He and Prowl needed to talk about this thing developing between them before one of them made an assumption that wound up with things being hellaciously awkward. When Prowl got back, Jazz told himself, they'd sit down and talk. Then he'd know what he should do about the winter.

He hoped.

* * *

The news from Prowl's other two scout teams was much the same as Bluestreak and Mirage had brought, along with the news that the Solusites were heading to their winter camp early and the Onyxites had changed their track entirely and were going to hole up in the Manganese Mountains. Prowl knew Hound would be disappointed not to see his kith any time soon, but there was no help for it. The Primanites could not detour, or they'd be late getting to their winter camp and lose valuable time needed to shelter and store up for the season, especially if the Quintusites were to stay with them.

Prowl didn't assign scouts to go to the Quintusites and make the invitation but asked for volunteers. Lancer and Bumblebee offered to go and planned to head out after a night's rest, rejoining the Primanites at the monoformers' commune, with or without the other tribe. Once the meeting broke up, Prowl gathered his hunting party and prepared to head out. He didn't get a chance to see Jazz again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so counting ancestors backward from zero:
> 
>   * Creator/Sator = Parents
>   * First Creator/First Sator = Grandparents
>   * Second Creator/Second Sator = Great-grandparents
> 

> 
> But you count descendants forward from zero, so:
> 
>   * Creation = Child
>   * First Creation = Grandchild
>   * Second Creation = Great-grandchild
> 

> 
> And so on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter art by [Airwarrior](https://airwarrior.tumblr.com/post/627667498900291584/across-the-forgotten-plains-chapter-6)/[Drift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drift/pseuds/Drift)!

Considering that Jazz had only known Prowl for less than a deca-cycle, it was weird to lie there in his tent and miss the sound of his systems, quietly humming on the other side of the tent, at night. It made Jazz feel oddly alone, even though there were mecha in the tents to either side of him. He'd just never been so far away from another mech at night before.

Was that another reason Prowl had brought him to the tent, instead of having him recuperate in the wain? He liked having someone close? It sounded like Bluestreak and Hound had only moved in together recently, and Bluestreak had stayed with Prowl until then. And Prowl had called this his family's tent, meaning the four of them, both siblings and their creators, had probably all slept in here. Prowl couldn't have had a whole lot of time alone, really. Tents weren't soundproof – Bluestreak and Hound were low-key proving that right now – and the Primanites lived pretty close together. Everyone's business was on display most of the time. It'd kind of been that way in Staniz, too, but there were some things Jazz would prefer privacy for. Sure, you could just keep your voice down or talk to your lover by comms, but no matter how you tried, metal bodies repeatedly coming into contact made noise. Then again, no one particularly seemed to care, but the lack of privacy solid walls would have afforded him was just one more thing Jazz was going to have to think about. If he stayed through the winter.

If he stayed.

Jazz lay there for a while and finally gave up on sleeping for a bit. He got up and went to the tent flaps, untying them and pulling the fabric back to look outside, up at the stars. They were far brighter here than they were back home, where pollution tended to make them hazy, but they were the same stars. The moons were up as well, and Jazz entertained a brief fantasy that Prowl was lying out somewhere on the plains, looking up at them and thinking about Jazz as well. Jazz wondered if anyone back in Staniz had given any thought to where he was, or how he was doing. He'd said good-bye to everyone, and they probably all thought he was still travelling unless word of the attack on the transport had gotten back home. If it had, he just hoped word that he'd survived had gotten back as well.

That was another thing. If Jazz stayed with the Primanites, he'd be out of contact with anyone back home and everyone in the cities, except when they passed by somewhere like the monoformers' commune. He'd get things like entertainment news and new music late, instead of up-to-the-nano like he was used to, and liked. 'Course, even Jazz would admit that a lot of the mass-produced stuff, mostly what you got in Staniz, started to sound the same after a while. Downbeat, and probably the other Primanite bards and musicians, could create pretty much whatever they wanted without pressure from marketing and execs. Sure, that didn't mean everything was going to be a hit or that every Primanite would be cool with hearing stuff that was different than the usual. But Jazz just couldn't see Prime pressuring Downbeat, or anyone, to stick with solely what might make money.

Well, what would bring in trade, anyway. The Primanites didn't seem to use shanix or other currency the way the cities did. Economics wasn't Jazz's strong suit, so he didn't have much of an opinion on that. He just hoped – again, if he stayed – he'd be able to figure out a trade-able skill of some kind. Prowl was generous to offer to trade on his behalf at the monoformers' commune, but he didn't want to depend on Prowl like that forever. There had to be something he could make or learn to make. The bracelets were coming along decently, at least he thought they were.

Jazz was still sitting at the tent entrance, thinking things over, even though he told himself he didn't have to decide right now, when he saw a tall shape walking across the camp, just at the corner of his vision. Glancing over, he saw that it was Optimus, with a decidedly not-sleeping Sideswipe wrapped in a little quilt and tucked securely in his arms. Jazz could just make out Sunstreaker, who did seem to be asleep, nestled next to his sibling. Sideswipe, who had been looking around, saw Jazz and began to chirp and beep when he saw one of his favourite adults. (Jazz still wasn't sure what he'd done to earn that, but okay.) Optimus saw what had attracted his creation's attention and, looking vaguely apologetic, headed toward Jazz, who got up to greet him.

"Sorry to disturb you, Jazz," Optimus said apologetically. "But if he keeps going, he'll wake up Sunstreaker, and it just took me two groons to get him to sleep."

"S'okay, Optimus," Jazz reassured him, holding out a hand and letting Sideswipe grab at his finger. "I was up anyway, just thinking."

"Oh?" Optimus gave him a knowing look. "About Prowl?"

"Yeah," Jazz admitted. "And about staying. Just trying to work stuff out in my head."

"You're very welcome to stay with us," Optimus assured him. "For the winter or permanently, as you choose."

Sideswipe made a noise like he agreed with his parent, and stuck Jazz's finger in his mouth, making the mech laugh.

"Hey, kiddo," Jazz chuckled. "Should be careful. Don't know where I've been."

Sideswipe giggled and gnawed lightly at Jazz's finger, but – for whatever reason – that seemed to do the trick, and his little optics started to dim.

"You're especially welcome," Optimus murmured, in as close to a hushed voice as his bass could manage, "if you can get my child to _sleep_."

"Heh, and I was just wondering what I could contribute." Jazz smiled at the baby. "He's gonna grow up, though."

Optimus looked down wistfully. "Not too soon, I hope. Although, perhaps by that time, there will be other infants around the camp."

"Yeah, maybe," Jazz said, watching Sideswipe and oddly fascinated by the sleepy optic contact the little mech was trying to maintain with him even though the little guy was obviously dropping off. It was easy to see because the blue of his optics was dim and flickering.

"From what Prowl told me, I'm guessing you'd never given any thought to being a creator when you lived in the city."

"I – " Primus, Jazz hadn't given any thought to being one now. "Well, I mean, no."

"Prowl watched his creators raise his sibling, and did grow up knowing it would be possible for him to have creations," Optimus reminded him gently. "I don't know if it's something he wants, we've never discussed it, but it's something the two of you should talk about."

Before Jazz made his decision, right.

"Yeah," Jazz said, watching as Sideswipe gave up his hold on both consciousness and Jazz's finger. "Yeah, suppose we will."

So that was on his mind when Prowl came back the next day with the rest of his hunting party. Prowl was busy helping his hunters divide their bounty between the supply wains, but he did scan the camp until he saw Jazz and raised a hand in greeting. Jazz, on the other side of the camp, helping Hound break down his and Bluestreak's tent for transport, paused long enough to wave back. Hound noticed, of course.

"You know, if you want to talk about what it's like to join the Primanites, I'm happy to answer questions," Hound offered. "I know me coming from the Onyxites isn't the same as you coming from a city, but maybe it'd help?"

"That obvious I'm not sure, huh?" Jazz asked wryly. They were kneeling on the ground, with the tent flat between them getting ready to fold it. Hound tugged his side of the tent straighter, and Jazz imitated him. "But thanks, Hound. I guess I'm just trying to figure out what I can do. Mech's gotta earn his keep, right?"

Hound frowned faintly. "I thought you'd agreed to be trained as a scout?"

"Well, yeah, but if I wanted to trade for anything…?"

"You're trading labour," Hound pointed out, managing not to make it sound like it was obvious even though to him it probably was. "That entitles you to a share of camp supplies. Sure, if you want to have extras, you might want to learn something like carving or weaving or armouring, but just remember that everything you have, you have to be able to take with you."

Jazz hadn't thought of it that way. He'd been used to working, yeah, but he'd gotten paid, even if it hadn't been much. Back home, they'd consoled themselves with the fact that at least they didn't have to pay back their construction debt. They'd all been told about places where that did happen, like Praxus.

"Never been a big collector of things, so that's not gonna be a problem," Jazz said. "But, good to know, Hound, thanks."

Hound smiled at him. "Any time, Jazz. Now, grab that corner and bring it over like this…"

Folding the tent took more effort than Jazz would have thought, and by the time they were done, Prowl had come over to help break down his own.

"Hey, Prowler," Jazz said, grinning at his new favourite mech and reaching out to take his hand without even thinking about it. Prowl took it, smiling back, strong fingers closing around Jazz's. "How'd your hunt go?"

"Very, very well," Prowl replied. "We're going back to the winter camp with far more energon and metals than expected. The textile workers will be especially pleased, there's plenty of machadron wool, and we usually have to trade for that."

"You have a cloak made out of machadron wool, don't you, Prowl?" Hound asked.

Prowl nodded, though his attention still seemed to be mostly on Jazz. "Yes, symbolizing my place as Huntmaster. It was passed down from my creator."

Prowl mentioning his creator reminded Jazz of what Optimus had said last night, and Jazz wondered when they'd get a chance to talk about that. Suddenly, the thin privacy of tent walls seemed a lot more robust. Sure, they were probably going to be in a tent again in at most a couple of nights, but Jazz wanted more time to make his decision before they hit the monoformers' commune, and he had to finally decide whether to stay or go.

"If you're tired from the hunt, Jazz and I can finish packing up the tent," Hound offered, unaware of Jazz's inner conflict. "Or I can grab Bluestreak to finish up with me once he gets back from patrol in a breem or so if you two want a little time."

Then again, maybe not so unaware.

"Perhaps a final pass through the enerberry bushes again?" Prowl suggested, glancing over at Jazz.

"Sounds good, Prowler," Jazz agreed. "See if we can provide some dessert for everyone." He'd learned quickly to keep a container in his subspace so he could gather anything that might be useful. When they got to the grove, Jazz saw that Prowl had learned the same lesson, much longer ago, of course.

The bushes hadn't been picked clean, and Jazz knew not to do that now, but there was still enough to take back and let everyone have a handful.

"I take it you were alright last night?" Prowl asked as they worked. "I know you were alone in an unfamiliar place for the first time."

"Took a while to drop off," Jazz said honestly. "Watched the stars, talked to Optimus a bit."

"Were the twins having trouble sleeping?" Prowl asked, giving Jazz the perfect opening. "He sometimes walks the camps with them when they do."

"Yeah, Sideswipe was up. Actually, the little guys were kinda one of the things we talked about." Jazz had absolutely no idea how to bring this up and hoped he wasn't being too clumsy about it. "Um, I know we haven't known each other that long and I'm hoping I'm doing this right 'cause it isn't something I ever thought about before," smooth, Jazz, not rambly at all, "but Prime said I should ask you what you wanted to do about creations."

"Creations?" Prowl repeated thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Jazz said. "I don't know how I feel about the idea of having them, but is it important to you?"

"They are something I'd considered," Prowl said. "And should my partner or I kindle I'd welcome the newspark. But I don't believe they're something I'd actively pursue. Bluestreak wants creations, and I'm happy to be an uncle."

Jazz nodded slowly. "I just started thinking about it really recently, so I don't have an answer to my own question."

"That's fair."

"Okay, good."

They worked together in silence for a little longer before Prowl spoke up again, sounding almost shy.

"Does my answer help you with your decision?"

"I think it will, yeah." Jazz reached over and put his hand on Prowl's. "Whatever I decide, Prowl, I'm happy we met."

"So am I."

They spent a moment looking at each other, then Jazz asked quietly, "Prowl, can I kiss you?"

Prowl's optics shaded a little darker with desire. "Yes."

Jazz leaned over and kissed him, gentle and chaste and not long enough. Prowl's free hand cradled the back of Jazz's helm, and the Huntmaster didn't let him go when the kiss ended, instead pressing their forehelms together.

"I won't ask you to stay," Prowl said softly. "But it would make me very, very happy if you did."

Jazz reset his vocalizer. "Before the tribe leaves the monoformers' commune," he promised, "I'll have an answer for you."

* * *

Jazz was a little tired the next morning, as the tribe got up and packed up the last of their things because he'd spent a lot of last night just staring up at the stars. He'd never seen them like that before, diamond-clear and burning cold in a deep black sky. The Primanites, including Prowl and excluding the mecha on watch, had all been firmly asleep around him, of course. He'd been groggy when he'd gotten up with everyone else, but he didn't try to sleep in. Prowl, who'd apparently taken the last watch, was already bringing him energon.

"Morning, Prowler," Jazz said sleepily, but not sleepily enough he didn't angle for – and get – a quick good-morning kiss. It was the first time he'd ever done that with someone he hadn't 'faced the night before, come to think of it.

"Good morning, Jazz." Prowl's bedroll was already rolled up but still lying next to Jazz's, so that they'd get put together on the transport wain. "Let me get your bedroll for you, while you fuel."

Jazz was a little surprised since he'd watched other couples (did they count as a couple yet?) that morning, and they'd each taken care of their own stuff. Except for Elita and Optimus, of course, since one of them had to contain the twins while the other worked. Hot Rod was still small enough to be contained in the little basket- thing he slept in, so Ironhide had just had to pick him up when he and Chromia were done. But a quick check of the datatrax that had come along with the language pack explained it: Prowl was showing himself to be a considerate partner, knowing Jazz might lag behind since he wasn't used to this. It was the same reason Prowl kept bringing him energon and had offered to trade for the use of the transmitter for him. Prowl'd been courting him this whole time. So, Jazz accepted, the same way he'd been doing this entire time.

"I'd appreciate it, Prowler, thanks."

"I'll teach you how to do it for yourself, later," Prowl promised, efficiently rolling blankets into a far tidier bundle than Jazz could have managed. He had the package tightly wrapped in the tarp (an actual tarp, Jazz knew the difference now) Jazz had used as a ground-cloth before Jazz had gotten much more than halfway through his cube.

"Thanks, I'd like that."

Prowl nodded in acknowledgment. "We're going to head out soon," he said, standing with the wrapped bundle tucked under one arm. "We should reach the monoformers' commune by evening. If you tire before then you can ride in one of the wains or transform – though I expect you wouldn't like having to keep to a walking pace."

"No, probably not," Jazz agreed, though he did like the idea of getting back on his wheels. "Hey, Prowler, want to take a drive with me sometime?"

"Optimus wants us to push on to the commune, but once we've accomplished that, then yes, I would."

Back in Staniz, Jazz had been assigned the role of courier, and he hadn't spent all his time on his wheels. Sometimes it had just been more efficient to walk from place to place since they were close. So he was pretty used to being in motion all day, but – he wasn't used to walking at the same speed, pretty much in a straight line, without any kind of variation for joors longer than a standard shift. Prowl hadn't been kidding when he'd said Optimus wanted them to push on. Everyone still kept an optic out for anything useful, like Prowl had said they did, and Jazz helped gather some stalks of gallium-grass that'd grown waist-high on a mech to be dried and woven into mats and baskets. By the time they got in sight of the buildings that Jazz had guessed was the commune, he was more than ready to sit down for a bit and refuel. First, though, he had to help set up camp.

Putting up a tent was a lot more complicated than taking one down had been, but Prowl was a patient teacher.

"Probably won't fall down on us in the night?" Jazz asked, half-jokingly, as they finished setting up their beds – pallets this time, not just bedrolls, since they'd be here for a few nights, trading. Jazz would admit he liked the pallets better since they provided more cushion against the ground.

Prowl smiled reassuringly at him. "It won't fall down. You're learning very quickly." He reached out and took Jazz's hand, and Jazz swayed a little closer to him. "Prime and his Councilors always meet the commune's decision-makers once we've set up. It isn't private, though. You can join if you want – and I'll barter for your use of the transmitter so you can let your people know you're alive and well."

"Thanks."

There was a long pause, and then Prowl added quietly, "if you choose to stay here over the winter instead, I'll negotiate that for you as well. I just ask that if you don't stay with the tribe," his fingers flexed against Jazz's, "you kiss me one last time before you go."

"Yeah," Jazz said, taking Prowl's other hand in his, "I will."

"Thank you." Prowl paused, and for a moment, Jazz thought he'd ask for a kiss right there, and then Prowl reluctantly released his hands. "I have to go."

"Yeah," Jazz said, reluctantly stepping back. "Guess I'll go and see if anyone needs anything while you're doing your thing."

"I'll walk with you, at least part of the way."

"Alright."

The walk across the new camp, at least until Prowl had to separate from him, was both sweet and awkward. Something outstanding could happen between them, Jazz just knew it, he just – he had to decide. Soon.

* * *

Prowl was known, by the Plainswalker tribes and their sedentary trading partners, such as the monoformers, as a patient mech. But as he stood with Optimus, discussing their plans to stay and options for trade with the leaders of the commune, he found himself wishing they could hurry. Prowl could not escape the feeling that he was losing time with Jazz, that no matter how close he that felt Jazz was to staying that he'd choose to leave instead. Prowl wanted to put more meaning into the kiss than it may have had. After all, it would not have been the first time he'd kissed as part of a temporary dalliance. It was foolish, he told himself, to think this way and to let it potentially distract him from his duties. He was not a love-struck adolescent with his first lover. He was an adult, he was experienced, and he'd known Jazz for less than a full deca-cycle. Not long enough to fall in love but, he would admit, certainly long enough to want.

One of his filters alerted him to a keyword, and he diverted his full attention back to the conversation. They were discussing the formal opening of trade between the Primanites and the commune, generally a semi-formal affair.

"We are also expecting to be joined here by a fellow tribe," Prowl said, right on cue. "If they have goods, are you willing to trade with the Quintusites as well?"

"We are," the commune leader agreed. "And, of course, they're welcome to camp here as well."

"I'm certain they'll appreciate that," Prowl said. "Thank you."

The commune leader looked between them for a moment, then said, "this other tribe that's joining you – does it have anything to do with the Decepticons?"

"Yes, it does," Optimus said slowly. "I take it you've had word about them as well?"

"Yes," the leader answered grimly, "and it's not good. My advice? Trade for weapons, and increase your guard at night. And – be aware you might need to find another trading partner next year. We're getting uncomfortable being this close to their territory."

"This isn't their territory," Prowl pointed out.

A corner of the leader's mouth pulled down unhappily. "Not yet."

"Prowl," Optimus said in a low voice as they walked back to camp once negotiations were finished, "I think we might want to consider heading to the winter camp early this year."

Prowl gave a short nod, though his spark slowed at the thought of potentially parting from Jazz early. "I think you may be right."

Prowl's next task was to locate Jazz and inform him that he had use of the monoformers' transmitter to let whoever he wished to know he was intact and safe. As safe as any of them could be right now, of course.

As they walked to the commune's communications centre, Jazz took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the universe.

"I also have to tell you," Prowl said, "we may cut our time here short and leave for the winter camp earlier than expected."

Jazz just squeezed his hand and said, "you've gotta do what you've gotta do, but thanks for the heads-up, Prowler."

"Does it bother you?" Prowl asked.

"You've got an entire tribe to look after," Jazz pointed out. "I know you want to keep them safe." He squeezed Prowl's hand again. "I like that about you, y'know?"

"Thank you, Jazz," Prowl said, touched, and tugged Jazz just a little closer as they walked.

Prowl would have liked to wait till Jazz was done with the transmitter, to extend whatever time they had together. But, Prowl had work to do, gathering the inventories of everything people had selected to trade and making sure no one accidentally put up for trade more than the tribe could afford to use. Optimus could be too generous at times. Jazz would be able to find his way back to the camp on his own, after all.

After that, it was Prowl's turn to take a patrol so that the usual scouts could trade, or try and trade, with the monoformers. Prowl didn't mind, since the commune's marketplace area was small and he was not fond of crowds. Besides, he had no need to trade for anything. That was how Prowl came to be the one who met Lancer and Bumblebee on their way back from the Quintusites.

"They're right behind us," Lancer told him after she'd transformed and taken a deep draught of fuel. "They'll be here in a few joors, should hit right at nightfall. The Quintusites accept Optimus's offer to overwinter with us, and they bring news. There have been more Decepticon attacks."

Prowl nodded, unsurprised after his meeting with the commune leaders. "I understand. I'll summon a replacement for myself and alert Optimus and the other Councilors."

"I can step in for you, Prowl," Bumblebee volunteered. "We were well fuelled before we left the Quintusites, and I can go without rest for a little longer."

"Don't overextend yourself," Prowl warned, but handed the signal horn over to Bumblebee and went to once again gather the Primanite Council.

* * *

Jazz still had the comm frequency of the leader of the marching band he'd run off with, and he contacted Crosscut first. It wasn't like they'd been close or anything, but Crosscut had been a decent mech, and he was relieved to hear Jazz was repaired and safe. Jazz also contacted a couple of the mecha he'd hung out with more back in Staniz, and brought them up to speed. Those conversations were short, but they promised to let it be known Jazz was safe. After that, he wandered down to the market area and looked at the goods for a bit. He didn't really see anything he wanted, and besides, he didn't have anything to trade with. Prowl took care of all that for him, at least right now. If he stayed, Jazz was really going to have start that scout training soon, so he'd have his labour to trade on instead of leaning on Prowl's.

There was a slight holiday atmosphere around the marketplace, and Jazz liked that, but he also noticed how it didn't mean the Primanites just took the day off. He guessed that meant he better not, either, and so he went to see who needed a hand with what before that day's lessons with Downbeat.

Ratchet found him and co-opted him into helping him out. The medic was busy fabricating a new vambrace for someone but also wanted spare components sorted by type and condition, planning to trade some. Jazz made the perfect pair of available hands, apparently, and so he shrugged and settled down to work.

"You need to admit to yourself what you want," Ratchet said bluntly later that day. "It isn't doing you any good to go back and forth on what you _should_ do, otherwise."

"Not even sure what I should do," Jazz admitted. He didn't need to ask what Ratchet meant because he could only be talking about Jazz staying with the Primanites.

Ratchet looked at the sky and sighed, then set down the vambrace he was working on, grabbed a folding stool, plunked it down in front of Jazz, and sat.

"Young mecha, Primus help me," Ratchet muttered. "Look, kid – and yeah, you _are_ a kid – let me ask you this: are you attracted to Prowl?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Why?"

"Why?" Jazz echoed, surprised anyone needed to ask. "I mean, just look at the mech, for one. He's smart, I can tell he cares about all of you, he's got that voice I could listen to for joors, and have you ever just watched him? Mech's got _presence_."

"I've been looking after Prowl since he was a glimmer in Hunter's spark chamber, so I can't say I've ever looked at him the way you do," Ratchet said drily. "You know he wants you, too, right?"

Jazz thought about Prowl's hand, warm in his, and the softness of the mech's mouth when they kissed. "Yeah. I know. That's what makes this so hard."

Ratchet rubbed his hand across his face. "Alright. Let's try this another way: if you leave, what're you going back to?"

"I – " Jazz thought about it. _Really_ thought about it. Sure, he'd wanted to get out of Staniz, learn to play music, get some gigs but…he'd gotten that, hadn't he? Kind of. Not the gigs yet, but even if he wasn't going to be a full-on bard, he could still play for the tribe, could play when they hit places like the commune or some of the little towns scattered around the edges of the Plains if they went that far. The life of a Plainswalker wasn't a safe one, as Prowl kept telling him. If he left, at least before knowing what could happen between them, he might never see Prowl again.

"Winter's not _that_ long, Jazz," Ratchet said before Jazz could come up with an answer. "So. Tell me. What is it you want, right now, more than you want Prowl?"

"I – " Jazz stopped talking and shook his head. "You make some damn good points, Ratchet."

"So, finally decided?"

"Yeah," Jazz said slowly, surprised to realize that he _did_ know what he wanted after all. "Yeah, I have." He looked up at Ratchet. "How'd you do that, mech? I've been trying to talk myself around for cycles."

"I'm old, kiddo. Been talking young mecha through their problems for a long damn time now. You always make it more complicated than it needs to be." Ratchet stood up and patted Jazz on his shoulder. "Finish that up and go find your sweetspark, okay?"

Jazz smiled, going back to his task. "You got it, Doc."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter art by [Airwarrior](https://airwarrior.tumblr.com/post/627667498900291584/across-the-forgotten-plains-chapter-7)/[Drift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drift/pseuds/Drift)!

The Quintusites arrived that evening, before fuel and just after Jazz finished his lessons with Downbeat. They'd been pushed back a bit because Downbeat had been visiting friends in the commune and had lost track of time. He'd apologized, but Jazz had been okay with it because hey, Jazz wasn't going anywhere. Besides, Downbeat only saw his friends in the commune once a year. The bard had friends in the Quintusites as well and was looking forward to spending the winter with them. (Word of that had gotten around the camp fast.) Jazz was looking forward to meeting them because, hey! New people!

The Quintusites were led by a mech named Perceptor, who didn't use the title of Prime since apparently, the Quintusites didn't go in for titles. Perceptor's equivalents to Councilors were designated Brainstorm and Wheeljack, and they disappeared into Prime's tent with Optimus, Prowl, Elita One, Downbeat, and Ratchet. It looked like it would still be a while before Jazz got to tell Prowl his news since that seemed like a pretty serious conference, and no one else was reacting like it was a normal thing that happened when two tribes met up. So, Jazz wandered back toward the trading area to see if there was anyone or anything new. A few monoformers were walking through, and Jazz wound up listening to them talk about their beliefs and why they believed Cybertronians shouldn't transform. He didn't think they were trying to convert him, not that he would have given up his alt for anything, but they were pretty convinced themselves. Jazz had noticed things like acid rain defences and other modular features on the buildings, though, so apparently, they weren't against the idea of _things_ transforming, just people.

Jazz was just about to ask about that last when he saw Bluestreak heading towards him, an unusually serious look on his face.

"'Scuse me," Jazz said to the mech who was telling him how it was a lot easier than you'd think to live without your kibble. "Think there's a mech looking for me."

"Hi, Jazz," Bluestreak said when they met up. "Sorry, I know you probably wanted to look around a little more, but Prime needs everyone back at the camp right now."

"Well, sure, Bluestreak," Jazz said, frowning, "but what's up?"

Bluestreak shook his head. "Not sure, but Prime never asks for this unless its something big and I mean bigger than just another tribe joining up with us. This really seems important."

"Okay, well, don't wanna be the ones to keep everyone waiting," Jazz said, and paused just long enough to say 'bye' to the monoformers before heading back with Bluestreak.

Both tribes were assembled in the centre of camp. Prowl saw him because he tracked Jazz's movement across the campground, but he was standing next to Prime for whatever the announcement was going to be, and he looked almost grim. When he looked at Jazz, his frown seemed to get a little sad, too.

Frag it, Prowl thought he was going to say 'no' to staying with them, wasn't he? Jazz _had_ to get a chance to talk to the mech! Maybe once all this broke up, he'd finally be able to get near him. At the very least, he told himself, he'd see Prowl at night, when they both went back to the tent.

Both tribes were talking among themselves, but they fell silent when Optimus raised a hand and stepped forward. Next to Jazz, Bluestreak shifted nervously, and Jazz saw Hound put an arm around his shoulders. Bluestreak reached up almost absently and threaded their fingers together. Even though Jazz knew he was about to hear about something major going down, a part of him hoped he'd enjoy that same simple intimacy with Prowl soon.

"Listen up, everyone," Optimus said, powerful voice carrying easily across the campground. "Perceptor and his co-leaders have brought us news of the Decepticon expansion, and it's not good. They've increased their raids on city-dweller transports and convoys, and there are even rumours of attempted raids on other tribes. They might be headed this way, so we're going to break with tradition and head straight to the winter camp tomorrow. The Quintusites will be joining us, and since they don't have time to set up, I'd like everyone who can to offer them space in your tents."

Jazz knew without having to ask that Prowl would offer space in his tent. He'd want to lead by example. That was disappointing, but Jazz got that there were more important things going on here than his and Prowl's relationship.

There was a general murmur of agreement from the Primanites. Optimus said a few more words about knowing he could rely on them and working together to stay strong, then the gathering broke up. Prowl and Optimus headed back to the commune to warn them about the Decepticons, and Jazz didn't get to talk to him until almost bedtime. Jazz had been helping distribute supplies more evenly between the two tribes' wains, and Prowl was waiting for him at the tent when he got back.

"Hey, Prowler," Jazz said in relief, heading straight for him. "Mech, am I glad to see you."

Getting closer, he could hear soft murmurs of mecha inside and knew he wouldn't be alone with Prowl any time soon. Besides, Prowl looked so tired that nothing would've happened tonight, even if they hadn't been sharing their tent.

"I'm sorry I haven't had time to speak with you," Prowl said apologetically as Jazz got close. "It's been – well. You know what kind of day it's been."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jazz said ruefully. He decided to cut straight to the chase, putting his hands on Prowl's shoulders. "Prowl, I'm staying for the winter."

Prowl's optics went wide, and, despite his exhaustion, he looked absolutely delighted. Jazz was smitten all over again – or maybe it was just his ongoing smitten-ness over Prowl being extra noticeable right then.

"Jazz, I – " Prowl reached out as if to take Jazz in his arms but only settled his hands on Jazz's waist. "Thank you. Thank you for staying, I – you're not feeling pressured, it wasn't Optimus's words or the haste we're making to the winter camp?"

Jazz shook his head. "Nah, mech. I'd decided before any of that, talking things over with Ratchet. Just couldn't get a nano-klik with you till now to tell you. So," he rubbed Prowl's arms gently, "guess there's some stuff we've gotta talk about." That was what you did before starting on a relationship that was going to last more than a few cycles, right?

"Yes, but we have guests, and I don't want to come back late at night and disturb them, especially since the tribes are getting an early start tomorrow." Prowl frowned slightly. "I apologize for not informing you before making the invitation."

"It's not my tent," Jazz pointed out. "Besides, you're one of the lead mecha here. You've got to lead by example. I get that, and I figured you'd have made a couple of invites. I'm not upset."

"Thank you, Jazz," Prowl said, genuinely grateful. "I do want – but any discussion of a relationship between us may have to wait until we arrive at the winter camp. It will most likely be the next place we have time and privacy."

"Yeah, I know," Jazz said, because he knew what Prowl was saying was right even if he didn't like it. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

Not until the spring, at least. Neither mech commented on that, though. Whatever would happen in the spring would have to wait until then. For now, Prowl and Jazz went to bed, separately, to be rested for the long trip that would start in the morning.

* * *

Jazz was awakened in the morning by the unfamiliar sound of mecha less than a mechano-metre away from him moving. He frowned and sat up before realizing it was just their guests for the night – Perceptor and Brainstorm – getting up and rolling their bedrolls. Prowl's pallet was already disassembled and he was packing up his belongings. Jazz just had to roll up his bedroll, collapse the pallet into its storage mode, and sling his electro-bass across his back. Their guests helped them take down the tent, which took a lot less time than when Hound and Jazz had done it, and store everything in one of the wains. Jazz subspaced his electro-bass, though, not wanting to be separated from it if – Primus forbid – this convoy got attacked too. Besides, maybe they'd stop for the night, and he'd get a chance to play for Prowl again.

"So, what's the deal, Prowler?" Jazz asked once everything was in the wain, and the campground was tidied up. Once the gallium-grass sprang back, it'd be like the Plainswalkers had never been there.

"We're going to transform," Prowl said, "and drive to the winter camp. There are energon wells on the way where we can restock, but we won't stop to hunt and gather. The winter may end up being lean, but it will be safe. You'll be driving in the middle of the tribe, I'm going to be in the rear guard. You can keep pace?"

"Yeah, I can keep pace. Are you going to be safe in the rearguard?"

"As safe as I can be," Prowl said, which wasn't really a promise of anything but Jazz guessed it was the best he could do. "We will be separated during the trip, and I am sorry for that, but it can't be helped."

"I know," Jazz said reassuringly. "I know. I'll stick with the others, and I'll see you tonight when we camp, alright?"

"Yes, of course," Prowl said, and squeezed one of Jazz's hands. "Be careful, Jazz, and if you do get tired, you can take a break and ride in one of the wains."

"Yeah, I will. Just you remember to do the same, okay?"

Prowl smiled. "I will. Thank you, my dear."

'My dear.' Jazz liked the sound of that. "No problem, Prowler."

* * *

The tribes transformed and drove for the whole day, stopping briefly at one of the energon wells to top up their supplies. It wasn't long enough of a rest for the scouts to come back in, so Jazz didn't get to see Prowl. When they did finally stop for the night, they stretched tarps between the wains, parked parallel to each other, to keep off any rain, and slept on the ground. Some of the smaller mecha even curled up under the wains. Jazz had wanted to stay up until Prowl came to claim his own spot, but he wasn't used to distance driving and definitely not for a full cycle. Prowl hadn't returned before Jazz fell asleep, and he and his bedroll were both gone by the time Jazz woke up.

"He didn't want to," Hound, on a later scouting shift than Bluestreak and currently rolling up his own bedroll, offered. "But…"

"Yeah, I know," Jazz said, standing and stretching. "Prowl's got duties, and he takes 'em seriously. No worries, Hound, it's one of the things I like about him."

It was true: Jazz admired Prowl's commitment to his tribe, to caring for them and keeping them safe. Prowl might be quiet about it, but Jazz didn't question his love for his people. It wasn't a deterrent when Jazz thought about becoming one of those people, either.

"You'll have plenty of time together once we reach the winter camp," Hound assured him and smiled. "The winter camp is a great place to get to know someone."

Jazz chuckled, crouching to bundle up his bedroll. "Now, how would you know that Hound, I wonder?"

"Oh, you know, rumours…" Hound said, grinning and Jazz laughed. "C'mon, maybe we'll see our sweetsparks at breakfast."

Jazz did get to sit next to Prowl at breakfast, though they didn't talk much and it was too public to talk about anything really important anyway. Everyone fuelled, broke camp, and got right back to it. The tribes' life went that way for the next two cycles as well, until Jazz saw a series of low buildings in the near distance, huddled up against the foot of one of the cliffs that bordered the Plains. Shortly after that, Prime slowed and brought them all to a stop. Everyone transformed, and Jazz picked up a definite vibe of excitement.

"Alright, everyone," Optimus said, voice carrying clearly. "We've arrived at the border between the plains and the winter camp. I know our arrival here is early, forced by unusual circumstances, but we're still going to celebrate the end of the season!"

"We celebrate the end of travelling and the beginning of winter before leaving the Plains for the season," Hound, standing next to him, murmured under the happy exclamations of the rest of the tribes. "We'll camp here tonight and then move into the winter camp itself tomorrow morning."

"Another night under the stars, huh?" Jazz asked, keeping his voice down. The tribes likely weren't going to make camp for just one night, especially with the winter camp in view.

"One last time before it gets too cold. The celebration is fun, though. You'll like it."

"Always did like a party," Jazz agreed.

"We'll have to be a little more careful than usual with supplies," Optimus continued, "but Prowl assures me we have enough for a small amount of indulgence."

Jazz could practically hear the quotes around what had to be Prowl's words. Prowl didn't seem to mind the gentle teasing, though, and Jazz was even sure he saw him smiling. 

Prowl found him again after the meeting broke up.

"I have to spend much of the day before the celebration working out logistics with the Quintusites," Prowl said apologetically. "We didn't get the chance before leaving the commune and we should be prepared before settling everyone in the winter camp. Then, there's a ceremony to close out the travelling season that I have to be a part of…but after that, I promise, we'll have time to talk. I'll make sure of it."

"I get it," Jazz said, stepping out of the way of a passing Quintusite who was carrying something that looked fuel-prep-related. "You do what you've got to, Prowler. It's okay."

"Thank you, Jazz," Prowl said, and leaned in for a quick kiss, one that felt like he wanted to make it longer. He didn't, though, maybe because they were surrounded by people. Jazz didn't think he was ashamed, though, just shy. Maybe uncertain because yeah, Jazz was staying, but Prowl hadn't really prepared for it to be _real_.

"We'll talk tonight," Jazz promised and held Prowl's hand. "Get it all hashed out, okay?"

Prowl smiled and squeezed Jazz's hand, stole another kiss. "Okay."

* * *

One thing Jazz found out about the Plainswalkers, or at least the ones he was hanging with, they knew how to party. Jazz even got pulled in by Downbeat to play for a joor or so. He wasn't at bard level and not even really at a professional level yet, and Jazz knew it, but the audience sure didn't seem to mind. Eventually, the Quintusite bard joined Downbeat, who told Jazz. He headed over to the fuel tables, and that was when he got an optic-full of Prowl, all shined up and detailed and wearing a cloak.

Jazz had seen Senators and mecha like that wearing cloaks on the newsfeeds occasionally, but he'd never really understood the appeal of clothing. Not until now. The cloak was nearly knee-length with red and blue trim, and Prowl looked absolutely gorgeous in it.

Prime, Perceptor, and their other Councilors looked pretty good too, but they weren't _Prowl_.

Optimus spoke briefly, formally welcoming the Quintusites to the winter season and speaking of the travelling season that had just passed. When he was done, he and his Councilors took crystal votives with wells of oil with a wick sunk in them in the carved-out centres and walked out to the perimeter of the camp. They knelt and set down the votives before lighting the wicks, setting up what seemed like a symbolic border between the past season and the future one. Jazz didn't think too much on it just then, because he was watching Prowl. No Senator Jazz had ever seen looked like _that_ when they walked around with cloaks on.

Optimus stood up and turned around, smiling. "Primanites! Quintusites! Congratulations on another successful travelling season! Tomorrow, we settle in for the winter. Tonight, enjoy yourselves – but no so much you can't get back to work tomorrow," he added teasingly.

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd, and the ceremonial part of the evening broke up. Prowl headed for Jazz, stopped only briefly by a few mecha wishing him well for the winter – Jazz was getting the same.

"Jazz," Prowl said on finally reaching him. "I promised you we would talk. Will you walk out beyond the boundary with me?"

Jazz smiled broadly at him. "Been waiting all night to talk to you, Prowler. Let's go."

It took them a while to get through the crowd, but eventually and without being pushy, they found themselves out beyond the wains, heading vaguely in the direction of the winter camp. Jazz had a fluttery feeling around his spark, and he wasn't sure if it were eagerness or nerves. He wasn't so distracted he didn't notice how beautiful the night was. Starting to get a little chilly, but Jazz could deal with it. Besides…

"Don't get a view like this back in Staniz," he said, tipping his head back to look at the moons. He wasn't sure he could ever get tired of the night skies over the Forgotten Plains. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is," Prowl agreed, though he wasn't looking at the moons. "No matter how often I see it, I never tire of it. I emerged just as the travelling season ended, so my earliest memories are of the winter camp and this view. Jazz," Prowl, clearly changing the subject, took one of Jazz's hands in his, drawing it towards his chest, "I am so glad you decided to stay the winter with us."

"I do like being here," Jazz said honestly. "Like the tribe, like the life so far, really enjoying learning from Downbeat. But you gotta know I'm really staying for you."

"And I want you to stay," Prowl said sincerely, looking intently into Jazz's face. "I'm just worried, well…" he looked away. "I'm worried I won't be enough. To keep you here."

"Wish I could say I'll stay," Jazz said frankly because he owed Prowl the truth about this. "But – "

"I know."

"But, do you remember what you said to me, once," Jazz asked quietly, taking both of Prowl's hands in his, "about it being better to love each other now than risk losing the future you _could_ have?"

"Of course."

"Dunno what'll happen at the end of winter," Jazz said, voice still quiet. "Dunno how I'll feel. Making a move from city dweller to Plainswalker, leaving everything like that – that's a big deal."

"Yes, it is. As it would be for me to leave the plains and live in a city."

"But I'm here for the winter, no matter what. Wouldn't want to chance the Plains alone, 'specially since I've got no real idea how to survive out there like you said. So, I guess what I'm saying is –" Jazz cycled his cooling systems. "Prowl, I'm asking for now."

"Gladly." Prowl's voice was low and rough with want, and he pulled Jazz toward him without hesitation.

Before he'd left Staniz, the thought that he might find himself living with barbarians, let alone falling for one, would never have crossed his mind. Now here he was, living with a tribe of Plainswalkers and kissing one by the light of the moons, beneath a clear black sky. They were so far from any city there was no light pollution to interfere with the view of the bright stars.

"You're beautiful," Jazz whispered, drawing back to look at Prowl. The moonslight turned Prowl's white plating to silver, made the black shine like obsidian.

Prowl smiled and stroked Jazz's cheek. "So are you, my dearest. Do you want to go back to camp? One of the wains should be free…?"

Jazz thought for a nano-klik. Camp had bedrolls, a fire, and quilts, comfort and warmth, but also lots of people, and even though Prowl was used to having his business pretty much on display, Jazz still wasn't.

"No," he said. "Out here's fine. If it's okay with you?"

Prowl kissed the back of Jazz's hand. "It is. Have you made love under the stars before?"

Jazz shook his head. "Nope, never 'faced outside before. That something that often happens around here?"

"There are…places," Prowl said, taking a step back with the clear intent to guide Jazz to one of them, "that lovers go to have some privacy. Many of them are outside of the permanent camp."

"Many?" Jazz echoed, optic ridge raised and _ideas_ already spinning through his mind.

"Many. Not all."

"You'll hafta show me."

"Oh yes," Prowl purred. "I will."

Prowl brought him to a sort of alcove at the base of the cliff, one where the ground had been cleared of stones and packed down in ways that showed Jazz and Prowl weren't the first ones to use it. Prowl unclasped his cloak and laid it down on the short, scrubby grass.

"It'll get dirty," Jazz protested. How'd you clean a cloak anyway?

"It will wash," Prowl reassured him. He kissed Jazz again then urged him to lie down, feet toward the cliff, head toward the prairie. Made sense – whoever was on top could see and react to a threat faster that way. "You're lovely," Prowl murmured, lying down with him. "Whether you stay or go – I'll treasure this, Jazz."

"So will I," Jazz replied, cupping Prowl's neck in his hand. "I care about you, Prowler. Can't call it love," not yet, but it wasn't going to take much, Jazz didn't think, "but you'll always be important to me."

"Jazz," Prowl said softly, optics shining, and leaned down and kissed him. His weight came down on Jazz, and Jazz welcomed it, welcomed Prowl between his thighs. Jazz had the fleeting thought that the Huntmaster felt like he belonged there, and then Prowl's caresses began, and all Jazz thought about was how to please his new lover.

* * *

"So, if you'd married me, you'd carry me over the border of camp to let everyone know," Jazz said afterward, snuggling into Prowl's side and resting his head on Prowl's shoulder. Making love under the stars had been fantastic, but he was starting to wish they had one of the quilts. They'd have to head back to camp, soon enough though, and they could snuggle up all warm and cozy then. "Anything special we need to do to let 'em know we're lovers now?"

Prowl chuckled, playing idly with Jazz's hip fairing. It felt nice, but not arousing. "There's no need to announce anything. We simply need to be lovers."

"Oh yeah?" They would have to go back soon, but for now, Jazz shut his optics off and thought warm thoughts, pressing into his lover's structure. "Think I can manage that."

"I have every confidence in you, my Jazz."

Jazz laughed and pressed a kiss to Prowl's chest. "Well, I'll do my best not to let you down. Might have to give it a few more tries to make sure we're getting it right, though."

Prowl's optics glittered even in the darkness. "We might indeed."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter art by [Airwarrior](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ecb8d5e2f5725c465b4dcec73d0ade11/8e121f8e1eb83c6b-09/s2048x3072/36b7d632bcedd5ab89ade849e12af24148c3343e.jpg)/[Drift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drift/pseuds/Drift)!

They moved into the winter camp proper the next cycle, and Jazz was introduced to Prowl and Bluestreak's creators. Jazz hung back at first, letting Hunter and Breakneck greet their creations and creation-in-law. Prowl, Bluestreak, and Hound all got hugs, and then Prowl reached back to catch Jazz by the hand and draw him forward.

"Creator, Sator," Prowl began, glancing over at Jazz just nervously enough for Jazz to wonder if he'd ever done this before, "this is Jazz of Staniz, a city-dweller who will be staying the winter with us. With…with _me_."

"Oh?" Hunter asked, raising one scarred optic ridge. "Following your younger sib's example, Prowlie?"

"Creator…"

Hunter chuckled and squeezed Prowl's shoulder. "I'm only teasing, Prowl." He let Prowl's shoulder go and reached out to shake Jazz's hand. Hunter's hand was broad and scarred. "Jazz, bright day to you."

"Bright day, Hunter," Jazz replied, glad he'd had the experience of formally greeting Downbeat so he wouldn't stumble here. Probably.

"So, you're going to stay with us, hm?" Hunter asked. "Just that, or were you planning to stay longer if things work out?"

"I'm thinking about it," Jazz said truthfully. "I don't know what will happen after the winter yet, though."

"A fair answer," Hunter said, nodding. "I take it you and Prowl have already discussed this?"

"We have," Prowl said. "Jazz hasn't promised me anything but that he'll stay the winter." Prowl had actually insisted that Jazz not tell him his decision until the end of winter. He'd said that winter was the harshest season, and he wanted to be sure Jazz knew what he was agreeing to.

"Hunter, let them get settled before you interrogate the mech," Breakneck said, not-so-subtly nudging his spouse out of the way so he could greet Jazz. "Don't mind Hunter," Breakneck continued after their greetings had been exchanged. "He's a little protective."

"He's our creation," Hunter countered, and it sounded like an exchange they'd had a lot. "Of course I'm protective."

"I'm also Huntmaster, Creator," Prowl said, in the tone of someone reminding someone else of a fact they'd pointed out many times before.

"Exactly."

Bluestreak seemed to be muffling a snicker, and whispered, "how's it feel?" to his sibling, who gave him a frustrated look. So, Hound had gotten the same treatment, Jazz guessed.

Breakneck continued as if his spouse and creations hadn't said anything. "Welcome to the winter camp, Jazz. Prowl, since you have a guest, you can show him around. I'm sure Bluestreak will be more than willing to unpack your things and set up your room for you…?"

"I - yes, Sator." Bluestreak sounded resigned.

"Thank you, Sator," Prowl said, and retook Jazz's hand. "I'll show you the common areas first, my dear."

"Sounds good, Prowler."

The camp was a series of low metal buildings, none more than one storey tall, clustered against the foot of the cliff. According to Prowl, they were positioned to help block the worst of the winter winds. Their roofs were angled to help prevent snow building up. The fronts of the building were covered in decorative metal tiles etched with images and glyphs. Jazz recognized some of them from the myths and legends that had been told in camp. The most impressive building was the communal one, which was right up against the base of the cliff and led inside.

"Those Quintusites who do not find housing with Primanite families will be housed here. We also retreat here if the storms are very intense," Prowl explained, showing Jazz around the passageways and rooms carved into a vast cave that had been manually expanded over the vorn. "Or if there is an outside threat. I've only ever seen it used during extreme storms. It's also where our energon and other supplies are stored. Generally, it's used for communal events, such as evening fuel and crafting."

"Like quilting?" Jazz asked, and Prowl smiled at him, likely pleased he remembered their conversation in the wain – was it less than a deca-cycle ago? Primus.

"Yes, like quilting, as well as other activities."

"Oh yeah?" Jazz asked. His words had a little bit of an echo since they were all alone in the cavern. Alone with his new lover… Jazz would be okay with putting the tour on pause – with one more stop. "Those activities, they all public?"

Prowl began to guide him toward a hallway at the back of the cave, a knowing and eager glint in his optics. "Not necessarily, no."

Jazz slipped an arm around Prowl's waist. "How about we go over those in detail? I mean, it's important I learn as much as I can, right?"

Prowl's arm tightened around Jazz's shoulders, and his voice dropped into almost a purr. "Very much so."

Prowl showed Jazz to a small room far down the hallway, where they wouldn't be found, and they locked the door behind them.

* * *

Jazz learned a lot over the winter. With stores for fuel rather than foraging and only some occasional hunting when the guards spotted useful mechanimals, a lot of time was freed up. He still had his lessons with Downbeat, but he also learned, well, whatever anyone else would teach him. He managed to learn how to spin acceptable yarn, although thread seemed to be beyond him, as well as basic weaving, and even helped out on some of the quilts.

"How long have you been doing this, babe?" Jazz asked Prowl during one quilting bee, looking at Prowl's neat, exact, stitches. Not that Jazz couldn't manage neat and exact, but it took him a _lot_ longer, and he didn't get nearly as far in the same amount of time.

"Since I was very young," Prowl answered, needle sliding through the fabric, effortlessly following the pattern chalked over the surface of the quilt top. "Bluestreak as well, though he doesn't particularly care for this activity. He prefers to help Creator at the forge. Sator prefers to knit."

"Knit?"

Shortly after that, Jazz found himself in the company of Breakneck, trying to figure out how to use two long, thin pieces of metal and some yarn to make a little square. Turned out, they could make quilts this way, too. Breakneck showed him an example, one that was carefully folded and put away, 'innocently' remarking that he had made it as a wedding present for Prowl when he took a spouse.

It was beautiful, and Jazz had learned enough to see that it was well done. He tried to picture himself snuggling up under it with Prowl, his lover's arm over his waist and their systems humming contentedly. It was really, really easy.

Jazz did think about going back to the city at first, during the early days, because Prowl had been honest when he said winter was hard and Plainswalker life wasn't easy. But as the deca-cycles passed, Jazz thought about leaving less and less. He liked living with the Plainswalkers – it wasn't conflict-free, people had disagreements, rough patches, points where person A wasn't speaking to person B. It had been the same way back home, though, so that was just the way things worked when you were living closely with other people. So that wasn't a dealbreaker because it wasn't like it was something you could get away from. Jazz could live with it, and he could live with the hard work, too. He could definitely live – or, rather, keep living – with Prowl, too.

Primus, there was a lot Jazz would be willing to give up, just to wake up to Prowl's handsome faceplates every day.

Even though it was winter, the scouts still went out, patrolling the borders and making sure nothing and no one dangerous was out there. Jazz started his scout training with Bluestreak, and that had a steeper learning curve than chores around the camp. There was a lot Bluestreak just automatically looked for that wouldn't have even occurred to Jazz. Some of it he wouldn't have known about anyway like if rocks had slid further down part of the cliff, or a tree had fallen, or a streamlet dried up or started to flow again. Others he had to learn about, like weather and traces of other mecha (they only found those of the other scouts) and the tracks of mechanimals. There weren't many of those in the winter, but they found and followed a small herd of titanium moose-bots, which were _fragging huge_. Jazz was quite happy to follow Bluestreak's advice and not go near them. Prowl took a hunting party out and brought down two of the moosebots.

Jazz finally found out how they got the energon out of the mechanimals. He decided he'd be happier not learning any more about how his energon was sourced from anything other than a well from now on, thank you.

Prowl was still worth it.

Prowl hadn't stopped courting Jazz even though they were living together now and kept proving himself to be a good provider and an attentive partner. It wasn't all bliss all the time between them, though. They had a couple of arguments, and it had bothered Jazz at first, yeah. Then Hunter, having picked up somehow that this was Jazz's first long-term relationship, pulled him aside and assured him it was normal for couples to disagree. Hunter also offered to give him some general relationship advice, and Jazz seized the opportunity. Hunter and Breakneck clearly still loved each other after all this time, so they had to have some pointers, right? That led to a discussion with Prowl about expectations and other relationship stuff. It was a long, honest, and, well, difficult conversation but also necessary. Learning about some of the things they'd each been doing that bugged the other wasn't fun, but Jazz felt better having it all out in the open.

"I'm glad we talked about this," Prowl said sincerely afterward, sitting with Jazz in the room they shared in Prowl's family home.

"Me too. And I'm sorry."

Prowl put a hand over Jazz's. "So am I."

"Can I make it up to you with a private concert?" Jazz asked, and Prowl's smile was all the answer he needed.

Prowl stayed jacked into Jazz's systems even after he stopped playing the electro-bass for him. They curled up together and just let things transmit passively over the network. Jazz tucked his head down on Prowl's shoulder and just basked in his lover's presence.

"So good," Jazz murmured, and Prowl affectionately stroked his helm.

"Yes," Prowl agreed softly. "Jazz, I – even if you leave at the end of the winter, I want you to know, I-I love you."

Jazz was startled, but delighted, because, well… _Prowl loved him_! He lifted his head and kissed the other mech gently.

"I love you too, babe."

* * *

Mid-winter, one of the scouting parties came back with the news that they'd seen fliers in the distance but hadn't been able to determine if they were from a tribe or a city. Prowl felt that the Decepticons had the highest incidence of flight-capable mecha, and it was probably reconnaissance but not an outright incursion. Even if the Decepticons had wanted to fight, the storms were coming. No one wanted to be caught in those.

"They are looking to expand their territory," Perceptor reminded them all in Council, which had naturally expanded to include the Quintusite leaders. "They could be attempting to determine the value of seizing those lands that have traditionally belonged to the other Plainswalker tribes."

"They may try," Optimus said, voice firm, "but I have no intention of surrendering anything to the Decepticons. We will maintain our autonomy, no matter what. Prowl, I'll need you to come up with plans for defence, just in case."

"I already have," Prowl replied. He agreed with Perceptor's assessment and had, in fact, anticipated it.

"Good."

Prowl confided this to Jazz, as he didn't want to withhold information that might affect his lover's decision to stay or not. It would have been more comfortable not to, but Prowl couldn't in good conscience have Jazz remain under an illusion of more safety than they might really have. He told Jazz that as well.

"Cities aren't necessarily safe either," Jazz said simply. "Plus, there's a lot of other things they don't have, love."

Prowl smiled shyly, kissed him, and tried not to hope too much that Jazz would stay. His predictions suggested that Jazz most likely would, but there was still that slim chance he would not. Then Jazz kissed him back, and Prowl put the idea of his lover leaving out of his mind. Jazz was here, now, and Prowl would make the most of that and leave the future to itself.

* * *

Jazz was passing through the communal building with some metals from stores that Breakneck had asked him to retrieve when the first storm started to come in. Elita was coming in with a twin in each arm as Jazz was leaving. Each twin was craning to look over her shoulders. Sideswipe was delightedly chanting the word 'snow!' over and over. Sunstreaker, usually the quieter one anyway, just seemed to be staring in awe. Jazz chuckled. He still wasn't sure on the 'do I want one' thing, but the little mecha sure were cute.

"He's already a fan, huh?" Jazz asked Elita, nodding toward Sideswipe.

"I suppose he is," Elita said fondly, nuzzling Sideswipe. The little mech accepted the affection as a given. "I don't know he'll enjoy it as much should we all wind up inside for an extended period. But I'm sure he'll like playing in it afterward. Have you ever seen snow before, Jazz?"

Jazz shrugged. "Little bit? Usually melts before it hits the ground in Staniz, though, from the waste heat the factories put out. From what Prowl's described to me, it seems like the buildings there block most of the wind, too. So, I guess this is kinda my first real winter too, along with your bitlets here and Hot Rod."

As if on cue, a delighted shriek sounded from further inside. Hot Rod had recently learned to crawl and was living up to his name. He loved to crawl away fast and shriek happily when a parent or other adult caught him before he could get into anything. The kid was going to be a terror when he got on his wheels.

"Snow can be very lovely," Elita said in a cautionary tone. "But it can also cause whiteouts and keep us in our homes for days at a time."

"Yeah, Prowl told me," Jazz said with a nod. "Said there are times we might have to hunker down in the caves in behind the communal hall, even."

"Hopefully, this winter won't be that severe," Elita said, resettling Sunstreaker on her hip. "If you'll excuse me, Jazz, Moonracer is expecting us."

"Yeah, 'course, Elita," Jazz said. "See you around."

Back at the house, Breakneck took the boxes of minerals off Jazz's hands with thanks.

"D'you need me for anything else?" Jazz asked. "I kinda want to watch the snow for a while. Never seen it like this before."

"It's fine," Breakneck assured him. "You can even go out in it if you want. It's probably going to come down fairly heavily, but just keep the house in sight. They don't get bad enough you have to worry about getting caught unexpectedly until later in the season, usually."

"Okay," Jazz agreed. "Be right outside if you need me."

"And come in when you start to get cold!" Breakneck called as the door shut behind Jazz.

Jazz stood out in the snow and let it collect on his hand, poking at it to see what the texture was like. When enough of it had collected on him and the ground, he experimented with moulding it into shapes. He wasn't the only one, and soon, he got pulled into something called a 'snowball fight' with Lancer, Bumblebee, and some of the other scouts. Jazz had so much fun he lost track of time, and he definitely kept on the move enough that he didn't get cold.

As the fight wound down, Jazz had his back to Optimus and Elita's house, where Council meetings were also held, thinking he was safe since his antagonists were in front of him. He was _entirely_ taken by surprise when snow splattered across his back and yelped, startled, spinning around. Prowl was there, optics lit with amusement, and already bending to gather another snowball. Jazz scooped one up from the stash he'd made, got his lover right across the chest. Prowl dodged the second snowball, ran, and Jazz gave chase, cheered on by the rest of the scouts. Jazz caught Prowl when he got to their house and paused to brush the snow off.

"I'd've caught you even if you hadn't stopped," Jazz informed his lover, slipping his arms around Prowl's waist.

"Perhaps we should test that another time," Prowl suggested, fingers playing idly over Jazz's back. "I'm quite sure I could catch you as well."

"Maybe you could." Jazz was going to suggest a race on the plains once the travelling season started again, but that – well, that had particular meanings to courting Primanites. Jazz had promised Prowl he wouldn't ask for or offer anything permanent till the end of the winter. "Guess we'll have to see."

* * *

Jazz used the winter to learn as much as he could from anyone willing to teach him. He kept up his lessons with Downbeat, learned how to be a scout from Bluestreak, and picked up any other skill he could. A lot of it was Plainswalker-specific, but he could see how some of them could be applied anywhere. They weren't quite past the halfway point of winter by the time he'd made his final decision, but he kept his word to Prowl and didn't say anything. If Prowl had asked, Jazz would have told him, but Prowl was determined not to pressure him for an answer and never asked. Jazz could still see it weighing on him, though, especially as the winter lessened and slowly turned into spring. With the spring, Jazz got to see and take part in the tribe's preparations to begin travelling. Tents and equipment were taken out and checked again, even though they'd been repaired before being stored. New axles and wheels were made for the wains. The stores were sorted through to see what the tribe could take with them before they encountered areas in which to hunt or forage. Even Jazz could see the stores were starting to get low, but on his scouting shifts, he found evidence of mechanimals coming out of hibernation so they'd be built up again shortly.

"Are you two going to be okay here by yourselves?" Jazz asked Hunter and Breakneck. "I mean, I'm sure you can find enough fuel and everything." Prowl's creator had been the tribe's previous Huntmaster after all. "But if the Decepticons come this way…?"

"We'll be fine," Breakneck reassured him.

"We can take shelter in the cliffs," Hunter added. "They won't find us even if they do come this far. Besides, some Quintusites are staying for the season and setting up a lab in one of the storerooms. We'll have some backup."

"If we need it," Breakneck said, with a glint in his optics, and took Hunter's hand. "We'll be fine. You just go ahead and enjoy the travelling season, Jazz. Don't worry about us."

Sounded like there were secrets in the cliffs Jazz hadn't been told about. Well, that made sense, since he hadn't agreed to stay yet. A mech wasn't going to just walk into camp and get told everything right off, after all.

Before Jazz knew it, the travelling season had come again, and he was helping load up the wains and packing the few belongings that he'd acquired over the winter. The next morning, he said good-bye to Prowl's creators, getting tight hugs from both of them, and then they were all walking. The Quintusites were still with them, and Jazz hadn't heard any word of when they'd strike off on their own again. Maybe they'd decided to stick around.

Apparently, the official start of the travelling season wasn't until they set up camp for the first time, so Jazz kept his word to Prowl and didn't reveal his own decision about staying or going. Prowl didn't ask, not as they set up the tent and their pallets, no longer separate, not as everyone gathered in the camp centre for the opening of the travelling season. It was a celebration, not as formal as the close of the season and a little leaner on the extras, but everyone was cheerful, happy that the travelling season was back on them at last.

"I don't need to say too much," Optimus announced, managing to look like a leader even with Sideswipe hanging – literally – off his arm. "We made it through another winter, and we're all safe and well. Enjoy the celebration, and here's to another successful season!"

A cheer went up, and Jazz felt a flutter around his spark. Travelling season was officially open. It was time, at last, to give Prowl his answer. Prowl was standing with Prime, of course, and Jazz went over to them. Optimus spoke first, but Prowl looked nervously hopeful.

"Now that we're travelling again, Jazz," Optimus began, with a twinkle in his optic that suggested he had a good idea of what Jazz was going to say, "will we be returning you to a city?"

"No, Prime," Jazz said, looking between him and Prowl. "I'm going to stay with the tribe if that's okay by you."

"You're more than welcome with the Primanites," Optimus assured him, obviously smiling behind the mask, "but I don't think it's up to just me. Prowl?"

"I want nothing more than for Jazz to stay with us," Prowl said softly. "To stay with me. Will you, love?" he asked and reached out expectantly.

Instead of taking it, Jazz danced backward from Prowl's hand, grinning. His lover looked at him in confusion.

"Jazz…?" Prowl said, uncertainly, hand still outstretched.

Jazz flickered half his visor in a wink. "Answer's 'yes' – _if_ you can catch me. You catch me, you can keep me, lover."

Prowl was fast, but Jazz had anticipated him and had already dropped into alt and begun racing across the plains, though he intentionally kept his circuit close to the camp. Prowl was behind him by only nano-kliks, but Jazz had just enough of a head start the Huntmaster couldn't quite catch him – yet. Jazz was fast and used to driving in alt, but Prowl was not the tribe's Huntmaster for nothing. Jazz had speed and skill, but Prowl knew the land better and, using that knowledge to his advantage, had soon caught up. Engine roaring, he edged into Jazz's space.

"You're caught," Prowl told him, voice thick with desire. "Enough."

Jazz chuckled and spun himself out of alt, turning to run. "Not caught yet, I –"

Prowl snapped into root mode and grabbed Jazz by the waist, yanking him in, spinning him around. " _Now,_ you're caught." He searched Jazz's face for a moment. "Jazz, is this…?"

"Yeah," Jazz said, fuel pumping through his lines like he was still racing, hadn't stopped. "It is. I love you, and I'm staying, and I'm proposing to you."

"Jazz! Yes! Of course, it's yes!" Prowl cupped the back of Jazz's head in his other hand and kissed him passionately.

"Now what?" Jazz asked breathlessly when the kiss broke.

"Now, this."

Jazz yelped in delight when Prowl picked him up, draping Jazz over his shoulder. He carried Jazz back across the border of the camp and into their tent. As they passed the others, Jazz noted mingled expressions of amusement and happiness on the faces of the other Primanites. Bluestreak looked particularly delighted, and Hound chuckled when Jazz gave them a double thumbs-up as they passed.

Heavy tent fabric was pushed aside, fell shut behind them. There was a shadow against it as someone moved quickly to tie the flaps closed for them. Then Jazz's point of view righted and spun as he was laid down on their bedroll, and Prowl covered him. Jazz forgot about the world outside, gazing up into his lover's face.

"This usually involves spark merging," Prowl said, stroking Jazz's cheek. "But with or without, we are now married. We can wait until we can find someplace with more privacy, or not merge at all if you don't wish it."

"I want to merge with you," Jazz answered, caressing Prowl's chest plates with both hands. "And I want to merge right here, in our tent." Where he belonged.

"I've never done this before," Prowl confessed, trailing his fingers down Jazz's throat.

"Me neither. Don't wanna do it with anyone but you, either, babe."

"No," Prowl murmured, and Jazz heard the sound of his chest plates unlocking, saw them start to slide open. "Nor do I."

"Hope you like what you see," Jazz offered, feeling kinda shy, even as he opened his own armour.

"Of course I will. I love every part of you." Prowl brushed a tender kiss over Jazz's mouth.

"I love you too, babe," Jazz said, sliding his fingers up Prowl's back to stroke his hinges. "Little nervous, but I want this."

"So do I," Prowl said softly. "More than anything."

Jazz urged him down, and Prowl kissed him again, then carefully brought their sparks together.

They didn't emerge from the tent for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was only in the morning, when they finally pulled free of their bed and each other to get breakfast, that they noticed the cloth-wrapped bundle sitting a short distance away. Frowning, Prowl picked it up, carefully feeling it and finding it soft.

"Heh, think I know what that is," Jazz said, leaning over his shoulder. "Bluestreak must've sneaked it in here while you were chasing me. Go on, lover, open it."

Prowl untied the straps holding it shut and folded a corner back. Prowl ran his fingers appreciatively over the knitted piece that was revealed. "Creator and Sator must have known what you would decide, what would happen."

"I didn't tell them."

"They've always been good at reading people. We'll sleep under this tonight." Prowl repackaged the quilt and set the bundle on the bed, to be laid out later.

"Oh, reminds me," Jazz said suddenly, and pulled the bracelet he'd made shortly after he'd arrived out of subspace. "Bit late for a courting gift, and it's been reworked a couple of times," mostly for the tricky closing ties, "but…"

"Thank you, darling," Prowl said, looking pleased, and slipping the bracelet onto his wrist, then took Jazz's hand. "Are you ready to officially begin your life as a Primanite?"

Jazz smiled and kissed him. "You bet. Let's go, love."

The newlyweds stood up and walked out of their tent, hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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